


Fantastic Two

by moondragon23



Category: Psych
Genre: Drama, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moondragon23/pseuds/moondragon23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chemical spill while apprehending a suspect leaves Shawn and Carlton with surprising new abilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Psych or any of its characters. All other publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> This story is already completely written. I'm just doing the last round of edits before I post each chapter. I plan on updating every Friday.  
> A big thank you to Singingpurplerose for requesting a supernatural story. I never would have come up with such a great idea without you. Thank you also to Redwolffclaw for betaing the story for me.  
> This story takes place in season 3 right before Yang.  
> I drew a lot of inspiration from movies and TV shows. See if you can spot them all.  
> Enjoy.

Carlton Lassiter knew this day was going to end badly.

It was a feeling he'd had since waking up that morning, a sense that something was going to go wrong. He was the last one who would admit that 'psychic visions' or 'vibes' or any of that mumbo jumbo were real. He certainly didn't believe he was psychic. However, past experience had taught him that when he had this feeling, something usually went wrong.

He pulled up in front of Primatech Labs to see Spencer and Guster waiting for them. He turned the car off and took a deep breath, his normal irritation at seeing the fake psychic compounded by his steadily increasing uneasiness.

Of course if something was going to go wrong today, Spencer would be involved.

“Spencer better be right about this,” Carlton muttered.

“He sounded very positive over the phone that this was our guy,” O'Hara said, getting out of the car.

Carlton climbed out as well, slamming the door closed harder than necessary. “Then why didn't he 'sense' that Chambers was the killer when we brought him in for questioning two days ago?” Carlton asked.

“Maybe the spirits decided not to tell him at the time,” O'Hara suggested with a shrug.

Carlton rolled his eyes. It worried him how much his partner believed in Spencer's psychic act.

“About time Lassie,” Spencer said as they walked towards the entrance. “I thought maybe you got lost. We even had time to stop for smoothies before you got here.” He held up the cup as evidence before taking a long sip.

“Spencer, I am not accountable to you for my whereabouts,” Carlton said irritably. 

“Well, someone's a Mr. Crankypants this morning. Did you not get enough coffee?” Spencer asked with a smirk.

“You want to know why I'm in a bad mood? I had to spend two hours convincing the last guy you accused of this murder not to sue the department for false arrest. So sorry if I don't have my usual sunny disposition,” Carlton snapped. 

Guster elbowed Spencer and he at least tried to look remorseful. “Sorry Lassie. My bad.”

Carlton growled under his breath. “Let's get this over with.” He turned and lead the way into the building.

He went straight up to the front desk and flashed his badge. “We need to speak with Dr. Matthew Chambers.” He drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter as he waited for the receptionist to pull up the information. O'Hara gave him a look and he stopped, before glaring at Spencer when the man smirked at him.

“He's up in Lab A on the second floor,” the woman said. She turned to Spencer and Guster. “I'm afraid food or drinks are not allowed past the lobby.”

Carlton grinned as the two consultants sadly threw out their smoothies. Sometimes it was the little things in life that brought the most joy.

Lab A occupied half of the second floor. They had to wait for a security guard with a key card to let them in, then another five minutes before someone managed to track Chambers down. By then Carlton was hoping Chambers was guilty just so he could take out some of his frustration by arresting him.

“Detectives,” Chambers said, looking at them in surprise. “What brings you here?”

“We'd like to ask you a few more questions regarding Lisa Spignelli's death,” Carlton said.

“Gladly, but I'm afraid I already told you everything I know,” Chambers said.

“Oh really?” Spencer asked. “You never mentioned you were sleeping with her.”

Carlton studied Chambers. His eyes had widened slightly at Spencer's statement, his body becoming tense.

“Is this true?” O'Hara asked.

“Well, yes, but it doesn't have anything to do with why she was murdered,” Chambers stammered. He crossed his arms, a classic defensive posture. It looked like Spencer might have the right guy this time.

“I think it does,” Spencer said. Carlton sighed as Spencer began to pace, running his hands over the objects littering the tables around them. He settled on a glass stirring rod, waving it around as if to test it before starting his reveal. “You thought she was interested in you. Maybe even that she loved you, but she was just using you to get access to your research. That article she published last week was based on work you,” he pointed the rod dramatically at Chambers, “have been doing for the past three years. You confronted her, things got heated.” He dropped the rod and made a gasping sound, clutching his throat as if someone was choking him. He fell to his knees, still keeping up the act.

“Shawn,” Guster said, nudging him with his foot.

Spencer stopped and jumped back to his feet, breathing a bit hard. “You strangled her, then dumped the body in the woods, hoping no one would find her.”

Chambers licked his lips nervously. “I have an alibi.”

“Yeah, about that. Did anyone check the security cameras in the lab?” Spencer asked.

“We didn't need to. We had the entry log,” O'Hara said.

“Check the camera on the door against the entry log,” Spencer said. “You'll find that Dr. Chambers' ID was scanned seconds before the lab tech's, Andrew Surtz. But I bet on the camera, you'll only see one person.” Spencer smirked at the doctor. “And it's not Chambers.”

Chambers looked frantically between Spencer and the two detectives. “This is ridiculous. I did not kill Lisa.”

“Then you won't mind coming down to the station while we check on your alibi,” Carlton said.

Chambers was starting to panic. “It wasn't right. She got credit for the work I slaved over,” he mumbled. He looked up at the detectives with wide eyes. “I just got so angry. I didn't mean to do it.” Before anyone could react he took off, running deeper into the lab.

Spencer immediately ran after him, Carlton right on his heels. He heard O'Hara join in the pursuit as well, darting off to the right in an attempt to cut Chambers off further down. 

They followed Chambers through the lab, dodging other scientists and ducking around tables where various experiments were taking place. Carlton almost ran right into someone holding a beaker filled with a strange purple liquid. He quickly twisted to the side at the last moment, barely avoiding disaster. He was more cautious after that, having no desire to become familiar with any of the strange substances this lab was producing.

Spencer was just ahead of him, closing in quickly on Chambers. The scientist glanced behind him, looking panicked at the proximity of his pursuers. He grabbed a stool as he was running past and knocked it over behind him. Spencer was too close to avoid it entirely, though he did try. He stumbled to the side, directly in Carlton's path. The two collided with each other, their forward momentum sending them into one of the tables. 

Carlton barely had time to put out a hand to brace himself. He fell hard against the table, broken beakers and test tubes slicing up his arms, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Spencer wasn't so lucky. He threw out an arm to catch himself but only managed to knock some of the equipment on the floor. He continued to fall, his head hitting the edge of the table before he landed on the pile of broken glass.

Carlton heard a scuffle ahead of them. Looking up, he saw O'Hara taking Chambers down. _Good_ , _at least they got the guy_.

He carefully extracted his arms from the mess of broken glass on the table, trying not to knock any more on the man lying on the floor. Worried about the lack of movement from the normally energetic psychic, he crouched down next to Spencer. He was lying half on his side, one arm pinned awkwardly under him where he had tried to cushion his fall. He was breathing but the blow to the head seemed to have knocked him out. 

Guster came running up behind them. He stopped short at the sight of his friend. “Shawn?” He looked at Carlton and started bombarding him with questions. “Is he OK? Is he breathing? What happened?”

“Call for an ambulance,” Carlton snapped, cutting him off. Guster nodded shakily, pulling out his phone.

A groan pulled Carlton's attention back to the man in front of him. Spencer's eyes flickered open, glancing around before focusing on him. “Lassie? What happened? Why am I on the floor?” He tried to get up, but Carlton put out a hand to stop him.

“Careful. There's broken glass everywhere,” he said, watching Spencer's face. The man looked confused at first, but then his eyes widened as the memories of what happened came back. 

“Where's Chambers?” Spencer asked.

“O'Hara got him.”

“That's my girl,” Spencer said with a grin. Carefully, he levered himself up until he was sitting leaning against the table leg, broken glass falling off him to tinkle almost musically to the floor. His right arm and the right side of his chest were smeared with blood from dozens of cuts. Some were small and shallow but others were deeper and still bleeding sluggishly. The side of his head was also covered in blood from the gash from hitting the table.

Spencer looked Carlton over, his gaze lingering on his arms. “Are you OK?”

Carlton looked down. He had been focusing on Spencer and hadn't paid much attention to his own injuries. The sleeve on his right arm was shredded and soaked with blood. His left arm wasn't much better off. Now that he had noticed them, the numerous cuts were making themselves known.

“Fine,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain. “No thanks to you.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I didn't knock you into that table intentionally.”

“Shawn?”

Spencer looked over Carlton's shoulder. “Hey buddy.”

Carlton twisted to look behind him. Guster was looking anxiously at his friend, face pale at the sight of all the blood. “Are you OK?” he asked.

“Not to bad, though I sort of feel like Carrie at the prom right now,” Spencer said, lifting on arm and watching the blood drip off it.

Guster gagged. “I'm going to go check on Juliet.” 

Spencer chuckled as he hurried off. “You think he would be used to a little blood by now.”

“It's more than a little,” Carlton remarked dryly. He stood up, then reached a hand down and slowly helped Spencer to his feet. He held him steady as Spencer wobbled, struggling to find his balance.

“Carlton? Shawn?”

O'Hara hurried over to them, worry etched into her features. “Backup and an ambulance are on the way. What happened?”

Spencer took a step away from Carlton, finally able to stand on his own two feet. “That table jumped out of nowhere Jules,” he said, pointing to the offending piece of furniture.

It had been pretty well cleared of equipment. A trio of beakers and a lone test tube on the far corner had survived the carnage. The rest lay in pieces either on the table or the floor. Carlton noticed a purple substance spreading among the pile of glass. It looked liked the same substance he had narrowly avoided having spilled on him during the chase.

“Where's Chambers?” Carlton asked.

“I left him handcuffed to a table with two security guards watching over him,” O'Hara said.

“Good.” He tried to shake some of the glass off his clothes, hissing as the fabric brushed against his numerous cuts.

“Do you have any idea what was on that table?” O'Hara asked.

Carlton shook his head. “No idea.”

“Then you both are going to need to go through decontamination showers,” she said.

“I'm am not stripping in front of Spencer,” Carlton said emphatically.

“Dude, trust me, I'm not in favor of it either,” Spencer said, leaning back against the table. “But I don't want some chemical eating through my skin.”

“I'll take my chances,” Carlton said. He tried to cross his arms to appear more imposing but just ended up aggravating his injuries. He settled for a stubborn look inside.

“You don't have a choice,” O'Hara said. “It's protocol if you're doused with an unknown substance.”

“Fine,” Carlton spat, hating that she was right.

“You know, Jules, I might need some help taking my clothes off since I'm injured,” Spencer said suggestively.

“Then I'm sure one of the guys from Hazmat would be glad to help you,” O'Hara replied sweetly. 

Carlton smirked at Spencer's uncomfortable look. “On second thought, I'm sure I'll manage,” the younger man said.

“I need to start clearing the area. Are you two going to be OK if I leave you here?” She looked at Spencer as she said it, gaze lingering on the bloody gash on his head. He was a little paler than normal and seemed to be using the table to help keep himself upright.

“We'll be fine Jules,” Spencer said, giving her a reassuring smile. 

She smiled back before quickly making her way through the lab.

Spencer sighed and started picking shards of glass off his clothes. “Dude, this blows.”

It seemed Carlton's hunch, or instinct, or whatever was right again. Usually at odds with Spencer, this time he had to agree.

Today sucked.

* * *

“I'm going to kill you Spencer.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. Lassiter had been threatening him since the moment they arrived at the hospital. He seemed to believe this whole thing was Shawn's fault. Yes, he had knocked the detective into the table, but only because Chambers had tripped him first. They both had to go through the decontamination process, so its not like Lassiter had suffered that indignity alone. If anything, he should be mad at Chambers, not him.

In fact, Lassiter had gotten off easy. Shawn was the one with cuts all over his chest and arms, along with the three inch gash on his head. Luckily, he had somehow avoided a concussion though he did have a pounding headache. Lassiter had some cuts too, but mostly just on his right forearm and not nearly as many or as deep. 

Shawn tapped the railing on his bed, ignoring the glare Lassiter was giving him. Hospitals are boring places and he never could sit still for long. He hoped he could get out of here soon, before he lost his mind or his grumpy roommate tried to kill him.

Gus and Juliet walked in a few minutes later, each going to their respective partners.

“What, no pineapple?” Shawn asked.

“No, but I did bring you a change of clothes,” Gus said, putting them on the end of Shawn's bed. “Do you know when you're getting out of here?”

“The doctor said something about test results,” Shawn said. “There was a smoking hot nurse in here at the time checking on our bandages and I got a bit distracted.”

Gus shook his head. “So what's the damage?”

“Thirty-two stitches total but no concussion,” Shawn said. “Lassie only needed eleven stitches.”

“I wouldn't have needed any if you had watched where you were going,” Lassiter snapped.

“Like you could have avoided that stool any better,” Shawn said.

“I'm a cop. My reflexes are faster than yours,” Lassiter said.

Shawn grabbed the tissue box next to him and chucked it at Lassiter. It bounced off the detective's chest before he had time to react. “Yeah, some reflexes,” he scoffed.

Lassiter struggled to get out of bed, growling as his IV got tangled. Juliet pushed him back down. “Enough you two.”

Lassiter subsided but glared at Shawn across the room. “When I get out of here, you're a dead man Spencer.”

“I really don't think you should say that in front of a cop,” Shawn said in a stage whisper, pointing at Juliet.

“Shawn! Knock it off,” Juliet snapped irritably. “Can't you guys get along for five minutes?”

“Probably not,” Shawn admitted.

A brief knock on the door heralded the arrival of Chief Vick. Shawn sat up straighter in the bed, trying to look presentable. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Lassiter doing the same.

Vick stopped in the center of the room and looked at the two injured parties. “Would someone like to explain to me what happened?” she asked in her 'calm' voice. Shawn winced. She only used that voice when she was really mad.

“Spencer had a 'vision' that Chambers was responsible for Ms. Spignelli's death. When we confronted Chambers about it, he ran. While pursuing the suspect, Spencer got in the way and knocked us both into the table,” Lassiter said, glaring at Shawn.

“I tripped,” Shawn protested. “And you practically shoved me to the floor.”

“You shouldn't have been chasing him in the first place,” Lassiter said. “You. Are. Not. A. Cop.”

“I was the one who almost caught him.”

“Until you threw me into the table.”

“I _tripped_.”

“Enough,” Vick snapped. “Mr. Spencer, you should not have been pursuing the suspect. Detective Lassiter is right. That is a job for the police.” Lassiter smirked as Shawn shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

“However, detective,” she said, turning on Lassiter now, “Mr. Spencer is your responsibility while on scene. If he is behaving in a manner unfitting a police consultant, it is your duty to handle it. You are also responsible for the safety of all civilians on scene, including Spencer. That makes you equally to blame for what happened.”

“I understand,” Lassiter said, looking like he had just swallowed a lemon.

“Good.” Lecture done, she looked over the two of them with concern. “Have the test results come back yet?” she asked.

“Still waiting,” Juliet said.

“I'll go see if I can speed things along,” Vick said.

The minute she left the room, Shawn broke into a wide grin. “Man, Lassie, you got into trou-ble,” he teased.

“Can it Spencer,” Lassiter snapped. “The Chief yelled at you too, remember?”

“Vick's always yelling at me about something. It's just how our relationship works,” Shawn said.

“Whatever,” Lassiter muttered.

“Dude, lay off him,” Gus said quietly.

“Why?” Shawn asked. “It's so much fun and it's not like there's a lot to do in here.”

“Because he's going to get out of here soon and he carries a gun,” Gus reminded him.

Shawn winced. “Good point. I'll try to cut back on the jokes.”

Their doctor entered the room, followed by the Chief. He looked at the group crowding around the patients. “It seems like you two are quite popular,” he said.

“What did the tests say?” Lassiter asked impatiently.

“Both your sets of tests came back normal. However, since we don't know what chemicals were being used at that lab, I'd like to keep both of you overnight for observation.”

“No way,” Shawn said immediately.

“For once, I agree with Spencer,” Lassiter said.

“In that case, I would recommend someone stay with you for the next 24 hours just to be safe. If anything seems unusual, come back to us _immediately_ ,” the doctor said, making eye contact with each man. When they both nodded he said, “I'll go get your discharge papers.”

“Thank you doctor,” Vick said. She turned to the two men on the beds as the doctor left the room. “Both of you are taking the rest of the week off. O'Hara, take tomorrow off as well and keep an eye on your partner. Mr. Guster, I suggest you do the same with Mr. Spencer.”

“But Chief – ” Lassiter protested.

“That's an order detective. You are not to step foot in the station until Monday morning. Do I make myself clear?” Vick asked.

“Yes ma'am,” Lassiter said reluctantly.

“Then I will see you both on Monday.” She turned on her heel and left the room.

A nurse returned with the paperwork and unhooked the IVs. While not as hot as the nurse earlier, she was still very attractive. Unfortunately, she seemed to have a thing for irritable, recently divorced detectives. Lassiter turned bright red as she reached across him to unhook the IV, practically thrusting her chest into his face. Shawn shared a smirk with Gus over the detective's discomfort. Even Juliet had to hide a smile.

Once the nurse left, Shawn picked up the pile of clothes Gus had brought him. “Do you want to change first or should I? Or we can both change out here. I've already seen what your hiding,” he said, batting his eyelashes at Lassiter. 

“Shawn,” Gus hissed.

“I said I'd _try_ ,” Shawn hissed back.

“I'll go first,” Lassiter said, gathering up the clothes Juliet had brought him. “I don't need to risk going blind a second time today.”

“That really hurt my feelings,” Shawn called after him. He grinned as he looked at Gus. “Sometimes it's just too easy.”

“It's your funeral,” Gus said.

Juliet sighed as she gathered up Lassiter's paperwork. “You really should be nicer to Carlton. He isn't having the best day.”

“Neither am I, Jules,” Shawn pointed out.

“That's no excuse,” she said, though her gaze did soften slightly. “Tell Carlton I'll be waiting outside. Feel better Shawn.” She grabbed her purse and walked out of the room, glancing back once in the doorway as she left.

“She's totally into me,” Shawn said.

“No way. She's way too good for you,” Gus said.

“First, I am totally good enough for her. In fact, she might not be good enough for me but I can live with that. Second, she is so into me, I can sense these things,” Shawn said, raising his hand to his head.

“You're not a real psychic,” Gus said.

“That doesn't mean I'm wrong,” Shawn said.

“It doesn't mean you're right,” Gus said.

“But I am, you'll see,” Shawn said. Juliet had been softening towards him recently, especially after that case with the football players. It might finally be time to ask her out and see what happened.

Once Lassiter was finished dressing, Shawn took his turn. He carefully eased his shirt over the bandages, silently thanking Gus for grabbing a button up shirt instead of a t-shirt. The later would have been nearly impossible to get on right now.

Lassiter and Juliet had left by the time he was done. He collected Gus and the two of them headed for the exit. “I'm starving,” Shawn said, dropping off his discharge papers at the nurse's station. “Jerk chicken?”

“You know that's right,” Gus said.

As they walked through the parking lot, Shawn felt the world spin for one sickening moment. He stumbled and almost fell on his face, barely managing to catch himself on a nearby car.

“Are you OK?” Gus asked.

“Yeah,” Shawn gasped, fighting down a sudden surge of nausea. He pushed away from the car, a little unsteady, but at least the ground was staying level now. “Maybe we should skip dinner and just go back to my apartment.”

Gus looked even more worried at Shawn passing up food. “We should go back inside. The doctor said to let him know if anything unusual happened.”

“I hit my head Gus. I'm bound to be a little dizzy,” Shawn said.

“Shawn,” Gus said uncertainly.

“Seriously, dude, I'm fine.” Shawn started walking again towards the car. “Let's go.” After a few steps he heard Gus following, muttering under his breath about stubborn friends who can't seem to stay away from trouble. He grinned, knowing he had won this argument.

_Gus is a worry-wart,_ he thought as they pulled away from the hospital. _It's just a headache. It's not a side-effect of anything besides smacking my head._

_I'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be fine._


	2. You've Got to Move It, Move It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up with the day off work because of the snow so I was free to post earlier in the day than normal.  
> I hope you all enjoy it.

Shawn woke up with a gasp. He had been dreaming of running through a hall made of mirrors, images of him reflecting off into the distance. Suddenly the walls shattered, shards of broken glass slicing his arms and chest. Looking down at the cuts littering his arms and chest, he felt the dream hadn't been that far off from reality. The only thing it hadn't captured was the headache he could already feel forming from hitting his head yesterday. 

He reached up and gently touched the bandage. He winced at the sharp pain, cursing under his breath. Did he really expect it not to hurt after six stitches?

Sighing, he pulled himself out of bed. Sleep would be impossible after a dream like that. He decided to skip a shower, not wanting to fuss around with wet bandages. Maybe later. He struggled into an old t-shirt and left the room.

Stumbling into his living room, he was unsurprised to see Gus already up. His friend turned off the TV and stood as Shawn headed for the couch. “How are you feeling?” he asked, looking Shawn over carefully.

“Sore,” Shawn replied. He sat down with a sigh, one hand reaching up to rub his temple. “And I've got a pounding headache.”

“I'll get you some aspirin,” Gus said. He left the room, quickly returning with a glass of water and the promised painkillers.

“Thanks.” Shawn swallowed the pills dry, chasing them down with the water. He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, willing the medicine to work quickly.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Gus asked quietly.

“A pineapple smoothie would be great,” Shawn murmured. 

He heard Gus sigh, then the sound of keys jingling. “I'll be back soon.” Shawn waved a hand at him, still keeping his eyes shut. He heard Gus sigh again before leaving.

His headache was starting to ease but he was still sore. He stretched out along his couch, groaning as he tried to find a comfortable position. He finally settled lying on his left side facing the TV. He reached out to grab the remote off the table and found it just out of reach. “Perfect,” he muttered, too lazy to sit up and grab it. He closed his eyes, annoyed he'd have to wait until Gus came back and could get the remote for him.

A soft, scraping sound from in front of him caused Shawn to open his eyes. He didn't see anything out of place at first, though his mind was insisting something was different. He looked around the room a second time a more closely. 

The remote had moved.

Shawn stared at it. It was several inches closer to him than it had been before. He reached out slowly and found it was easily within reach. He examined the remote carefully, but couldn't find anything different about it. Nothing to explain how it had moved across the table on its own.

He shook his head. This was crazy. He probably hadn't stretched far enough the first time to reach it. Nothing weird about that.

 _What about that scraping sound?_ “Shut up,” he muttered. He turned on the TV, keeping the volume low. He placed the remote back on the table and tried to concentrate on the show. However, his gaze kept sliding back to the remote, as if expecting it to move again.

He jumped when he heard his front door opening. He had almost forgotten Gus was coming back with his drink.

“Took you long enough,” he said when Gus walked into the room carrying two smoothies. He held out a hand to take his drink.

Gus glared at him. “The least you can do is say 'thank you,' Shawn.” He put the smoothie on the table, deliberately out of Shawn's reach.

Shawn tried anyway, laying back on the couch with a huff after a couple of failed attempts. “Dude, that's just cruel.”

“Suck it, Shawn,” Gus said, slurping his own smoothie. “I'm going to see if you have any food. You want anything?”

“My smoothie,” Shawn muttered darkly.

“So sit up and grab it,” Gus said.

“But I'm comfy and my head hurts,” Shawn whined.

Gus gave him an exasperated look and went into the kitchen.

Shawn glared after him for a moment. He was injured. Gus should be a good friend and attend to his every need. He huffed, looking again at the smoothie. A drop of condensation formed and slowly slid down the outside of the cup. He licked his lips, suddenly feeling incredibly thirsty. The glass of water was in reach but he really wanted that smoothie.

The cup twitched.

Shawn blinked. _Did that just really happen? Or was it a hallucination brought on by a severe lack of pineapply sweetness?_ He glanced at the remote, then back at the cup. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he was determined to find out. He stared at the cup, waiting to see if it would move again.

Nothing happened for a long moment, then the cup gave a lurch, sliding a few inches closer to him.

Hardly daring to breathe, Shawn reached out a hand. He could brush the cup with his fingertips now but it was still too far to grab. He stared at it, willing it to come closer.

Slowly, the cup started moving again until it was firmly pressed against his hand. He closed his fingers around it and brought it over to his face. Like the remote, there didn't seem to be anything different about it. He took an experimental sip. It tasted fine, excellent in fact. Gus had gone to his favorite smoothie place, which put him back in the good friend category.

Sipping it some more, he tried to figure out what was going on. Something seemed to be making objects move in his apartment. Neither object had been tampered with as far as he could tell. There were only two things they had in common. Both had been sitting on the table, and both objects Shawn had wanted, but couldn't reach.

He had a feeling he knew what the link was, but decided to rule out the table first. He had gotten it at a flea market after all. It could be haunted. Grabbing the remote, he tossed it on the floor out of reach. He stared at it, willing it to move closer.

Nothing happened.

He frowned. Maybe it was the table after all. There was still a glass of water sitting on it. It was within reach, but that shouldn't make a difference. He stared at the glass.

Again, nothing happened.

He let out a frustrated sigh. What was different between now and when he had seen both objects move? He had wanted to watch TV, but was too lazy to sit up and get the remote. He had closed his eyes that time, opening them to find the remote had moved.

Easy enough to test. He looked at the remote, then closed his eyes. He slowly counted to five, then opened them again. The remote was still in the same place.

Gus walked back into the room with a plate piled high with food. He stopped and looked at Shawn, then at the remote laying on the floor. “Is there a reason you chucked the remote across the room and are now staring at it?”

Shawn hesitated, not sure if he wanted to confide in Gus just yet. “No reason. I just knocked it off the table when I grabbed my smoothie,” he lied.

Gus picked up the remote, then crossed the room to the chair next to the couch. “Looks like I get to pick what we're watching.” He started flipping channels, settling, ironically enough, on the movie _Push._

Having already seen it a half dozen times, Shawn tuned it out. Instead, he thought again of the mysterious moving objects. He had really wanted the smoothie but Gus had to be a jerk and put it on the far side of the table. He took a sip, remembering how tempting it had looked sitting there, just out of reach.

He looked down at the smoothie in his hand. “Hey Gus? Can you do something for me?”

“I'm not sharing any of my food with you, Shawn. I offered, you turned it down, now you can get some of your own,” was the prompt reply.

Shawn rolled his eyes. Gus was way too possessive of his food. “Just come over here.” Gus put his plate down reluctantly and walked over to him. “Put this on the table where I can't reach it. No wait, put it on the floor.” He still hadn't completely ruled out the table yet, though at this point it was looking highly doubtful.

“Why do you want me to put your drink on the floor?” Gus asked.

“Just do it.”

Gus sighed but took the smoothie and placed it on the floor a few feet away. “There. Happy now?” He started to walk back over to his food.

“Wait!” Shawn said, throwing out a hand to stop him. Gus stumbled, then looked down quizzically at the floor. Shawn sat up slowly. “What happened?”

“I must have tripped on something,” Gus said. He crossed his arms, looking at Shawn with annoyance. “What is this all about?”

Shawn looked at his hand, then back at Gus. “Was there anything on the floor for you to trip on?”

“Noooo. . .,” Gus said slowly.

Shawn nodded. The thought he might actually have a superpower was exciting yet completely unsettling. He was positive he had tripped Gus, but there was no way to prove it. He'd have to go with his original test. “Watch the cup.”

“Shawn – ”

“Just trust me, all right,” Shawn snapped. He took a deep breath, calming himself, and stared at the cup. 

It happened quicker this time, maybe because Shawn now knew he was controlling it. The cup slid across the floor, slowly gaining speed. He put a hand down and grabbed it before it hit into the couch. “Awesome,” he exclaimed, grinning at Gus.

Gus looked at him with wide eyes. “Did that just happen?”

Shawn nodded. “It sure did.” He put his free hand to his head in his usual psychic pose. “I, Shawn Spencer, can move things with my mind.”

Gus stared at him for a moment, than walked over and took the smoothie from his hand. “Hey, I wasn't finished with that,” he protested.

Gus examined the cup, going so far to open the lid and dig through the liquid with the straw. 

“I didn't tamper with it,” Shawn said helpfully.

Gus glanced at him, then popped the lid back on. He put the smoothie on the floor, and took a step back. “Do it again.”

Shawn looked at the cup. It slid smoothly across the floor, stopping against the couch. Wanting to try something new, he concentrated harder. The cup slowly lifted off the floor, rising up until it was at eye level. He held it there until a sharp pain in his head made him loose his concentration. The cup dropped to the floor, spilling smoothie everywhere. “Damn it,” he muttered, looking at the splattered mess on the carpet. He rubbed his throbbing head, mourning the loss of the smoothie.

“Are you OK?” Gus asked.

“Headache again,” Shawn said.

“It's probably because your powers are so new,” Gus said. “You'll only be able to move small things for short periods of time until you build up your strength.”

“What are you, an expert on this now? You've known about my powers for less than five minutes!” Shawn said irritably.

“You see it all the time in the comic books,” Gus said. 

Shawn grinned at Gus. “What you're saying is, I'm like a superhero now.”

“Just because you have superpowers does not make you a superhero,” Gus countered.

“Dude, I have a power,” Shawn said quietly. Despite his cheerfulness before, the reality of the situation was finally sinking in. He was no longer the same person he had been for the last thirty-one years. He wondered what else about him had changed, what other abilities might appear. Were there others out there like him, or was he some kind of freak, set off from the human race forever?

Gus shook his head. “The one time I decide not to chase after you into danger and you get a superpower.”

Shawn let Gus distract him from his uncomfortable thoughts. “Jealous?” he asked with a smirk.

“A little,” Gus said. Shawn raised an eyebrow. “OK, a lot.” He looked at Shawn speculatively. “We should probably call your doctor.”

Shawn looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

“He said to call if anything unusual happened,” Gus reminded him.

“And what are you going to tell him. My friend has a headache and oh yeah, now he's suddenly telekinetic?” Shawn asked. “I doubt these were the kind of side effects he was worried about.” Thinking about yesterday, he remembered someone else was exposed to the same chemicals. “Dude, do you think the same thing happened to Lassie?”

Gus frowned. “It's possible. If your ability was caused by whatever you both were exposed to, it's logical to think Lassiter was affected as well.”

“We should probably call him, see if anything is different,” Shawn said.

Gus nodded. As he reached for the phone, it started ringing. Shawn grinned at Gus's shocked look. “Don't look at me, answer it.”

Gus slowly picked up the phone. “Hello? Oh hey Juliet. Is everything OK?” Gus turned and looked at him. “Shawn?”

“Don't tell her anything,” Shawn said quickly.

Gus nodded. “He's fine. He just has a headache. Nothing unusual or strange or anything. Just regular, normal Shawn.”

Shawn groaned. “Now she's definitely going to know something's up.”

Gus waved at him to be quiet. “Will do,” he said into the phone.

“Dude, ask about Lassie,” Shawn said.

“How's Lassiter doing?” Gus listened, a slight frown coming over his face. “Good.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, covering the mouthpiece. “She sounds nervous,” he whispered to Shawn.

Shawn nodded thoughtfully. There were many reasons Juliet could be nervous; a burglar holding her at gunpoint (not likely with the arsenal Lassiter had hidden around the house), suddenly realizing she has a huge crush on Gus (for his sake, he hoped not, though the two did have a lot in common), suddenly realizing she has a huge crush on Lassiter (he didn't even want to think of that possibility). However, he knew Juliet and, while she could lie undercover or to criminals, she couldn't lie nearly as well to those close to her. She was almost as bad as Gus.

“Was there anything else you needed?” Gus was asking. “Bye Juliet.” He hung up the phone and looked at Shawn. “She's hiding something.”

“Something like her partner suddenly having a strange new ability?” Shawn guessed.

“Could be,” Gus said. “You know he'll never admit to it.”

Shawn grinned. “I do love a challenge.” He winced as his head gave a particularly painful throb. “Though it might be best to wait till Monday.”

“So what do you want to do now?” Gus asked. He was hiding it well, but Shawn could tell this whole superpowers thing was freaking him out. To be honest, it was freaking him out a bit too.

“I am going to take a nap and hope this headache goes away,” Shawn said. That would give Gus plenty of time for his freak-out before they got to work. He stood up, carefully stepping around the puddle of smoothie still on the floor. “Then we are going to test this power and see exactly what I can do.”

“I'm not cleaning up this mess, Shawn,” Gus called after him. Shawn waved back over his shoulder in acknowledgment. They both knew the mess would be gone by the time Shawn woke up.

He threw himself down on his bed, not bothering to undress as a wave of exhaustion hit him. Stuffing a pillow under his head, he closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up we check in with Carlton.


	3. It's All in Your Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an absolutely horrible week, culminating in a demotion at work today. I'll have more about that on my LiveJournal page sometime this weekend, since this will effect my WIPs and future stories. It shouldn't affect this story, however. I am almost done editing the last chapter and don't see a problem continuing with the weekly updates.  
> On a more cheerful note, it was fun giving skeptical Lassiter a power. I hope everyone enjoys this.

Carlton stared up at his bedroom ceiling. It was nice, as far as ceilings went, painted a neutral white color. He had been staring at it for awhile now. He wasn't sure how long, but it was long enough for the shadows to move and fade as the sun came up. He had spent hours tossing and turning last night before finally falling asleep, only to have his treacherous body wake him up again a scant few hours later. His insomnia always did pick the worst times to rear its ugly head.

He glanced over at his alarm clock and let out a groan. He might as well give up at this point. He highly doubted he would get anymore sleep. It's not like it mattered if he was well rested anyway. He was banned from the station for the next few days and had nothing much planned except lounging around the house.

Getting up slowly, he cursed the throbbing in his head. It had started as a dull ache as soon as he woke up. Since then it had escalated to something bordering on a migraine. He hoped it wasn't a side-effect of whatever chemicals had made it into his bloodstream. He did not want to spend any more time in a damn hospital.

He popped a couple of aspirin and took a shower, being careful of his bandages. The warm water did wonders for his sore body, though didn't help his headache much.

Dressed in sweat pants and an old SBPD t-shirt, he left his room. On the way towards the kitchen, he peeked into the living room. O'Hara was already up, sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee. She jumped up as soon as she saw him.

Carlton held up a hand to ward off any questions. “Is there more coffee?”

She nodded. “I made it fresh ten minutes ago.”

He grunted in response before resuming his trek towards the kitchen. He heard O'Hara following him and suppressed a sigh. Hopefully she could keep quiet until he had his first cup.

She stood in the doorway watching him as he moved around the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He brought his cup to his face, inhaling the bittersweet aroma before taking a sip. O'Hara had found one of the bags of specialty coffee he had received for Christmas last year. He had shoved them to the back of the cabinet, preferring his coffee untainted. He was surprised to find he enjoyed the taste. He wondered which flavor she had chosen. For some reason, he was leaning toward hazelnut.

“Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat,” O'Hara offered.

The thought of food making him nauseous, he shook his head. “Coffee's fine for now.”

He headed for the living room, O'Hara again trailing behind. He sat on the couch while she took a seat in a nearby chair. Sipping his coffee, he tried to ignore O'Hara's fidgeting. He briefly considered turning on the TV, but decided that would only make his headache worse. He sighed, rubbing his temples to try to ease the persistent pounding.

“What's wrong?” O'Hara asked.

“Headache,” he said. He put his mug down, the coffee no longer appealing with his head hurting so much.

She got up and left the room. He heard her rummaging around in the kitchen, then the sound of water running. She returned holding a damp hand towel. “Here, try laying this across your forehead. It should help.”

When he took the towel from her, their fingers touched. He suddenly got an image in his mind of a middle aged man who looked similar to O'Hara, along with a feeling of concern. He jerked his hand away, ignoring the hurt look on his partner's face. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.

She walked away as he laid back on the couch, placing the towel across his forehead. He let out a sigh of relief as the cool cloth started to soothe away the pain. He swore he could feel O'Hara smiling at him but since she was the reason his head was no longer throbbing, he let it slide.

He tried to relax, but the mental image of that man bothered him. Carlton didn't know who he was, but he had the strangest feeling O'Hara did. If he had to guess, he would say the man was one of her older brothers. That would explain how she knew him, but not how the image of him had gotten into his head. There was no logical way for that to have happened.

Well, one part of the mystery was easy to clear up. “How's your brother?” he asked casually.

O'Hara sounded startled by the sudden question. “Why do you ask?”

“I'm just trying to make conversation. It's not like there's much else to do,” Carlton said defensively. He realized it must seem odd asking that question out of nowhere, especially since he made it a point not to ask about her personal life unless it affected their work. Unlike some other detectives he could name.

“Oh. Well, he has been on my mind today,” O'Hara admitted. She didn't say anything else right away, but he could hear her moving around in her chair.

“I can hear you fidgeting. Just tell me,” Carlton said.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “My brother was in a car accident a couple of weeks ago. He hurt his knee pretty badly. He's supposed to find out today if he needs surgery to fix it.”

“That sucks,” Carlton said out loud. Internally, he was wondering how the hell he had known something was going on with her brother. Maybe the headache was causing him to hallucinate. O'Hara was here, so his mind came up with something related to her. That could explain the vision he had seen.

_No, not a vision._ He flinched away from even thinking that term. A vision was something Spencer pretended to have when mucking up one of his cases. He wasn't anything like Spencer and visions weren't real. He'd much rather go with the theory he was hallucinating. That was more likely than some mystical power.

There was a short period of silence while Carlton tried to sort out his thoughts. Soon he heard O'Hara fidgeting again. He sighed. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” she said, though he could clearly tell she was lying. She was probably bored. It's not like he was providing much entertainment.

“I don't need you to sit there staring at me. Find something to do,” he snapped.

_**I wonder if Shawn is this grouchy.**_

“Well, nothing's stopping you from finding out,” Carlton muttered. “I don't need you hanging around all day.”

“What are you talking about?” O'Hara asked.

“If you're worried about Spencer, call him. I'm sure he's less grouchy than me,” Carlton said petulantly.

“I never said you were grouchy,” O'Hara frowned.

Carlton lifted the towel so he could look at her. “Really? So I just imagined it then?” he asked.

O'Hara looked at him with concern. “Are you sure you're OK?”

“I'm fine.” He dropped the towel back over his eyes. It had warmed against his skin and was no longer providing much relief.

_**Maybe I should call the doctor, just to be safe.**_

“No doctors,” Carlton said sharply.

“I didn't say anything about a doctor,” O'Hara said irritably.

Carlton threw the towel on the ground and sat up. “Are we seriously going to do this again?” He stopped when he saw the strange look on O'Hara's face.

“I didn't _say_ anything about a doctor,” she said slowly. “But I was thinking it. Just like I was thinking about my brother before you asked and I was thinking that you were grouchy.” She was looking entirely too pleased by the ridiculous idea she was proposing.

“O'Hara, will you listen to yourself. You sound as bad as Spencer,” Carlton said.

“Do you have a better explanation?” she asked.

“You're muttering things under your breath without realizing it,” Carlton replied promptly. “My ex-wife used to do it all the time.” He had caught O'Hara doing it a time or two before, though not with the same frequency as Victoria. It was certainly plausible that it had happened again today, caused by O'Hara's concern.

“Then you won't have a problem with a little test,” she said eagerly.

He wondered if it wasn't his partner that had been exposed to something. “O'Hara – ”

“What number am I thinking of?”

“Aren't you going to give me a range to guess from?” he complained.

She shook her head. “You won't need it. Now, what number?”

Carlton sighed, but decided to humor her. The quicker he failed, the quicker she would drop this asinine idea. If it silenced his own growing suspicions as well, all the better. He closed his eyes and focused on O'Hara.

_**Thirty-** **one** **, the same as Shawn's age.**_

His eyes snapped open. That was weird. It sounded almost like O'Hara talking, but with a strange echo to it. He hadn't heard the words with his ears, though. They had sounded inside his head.

Which couldn't happen. Mind-readers don't exist.

“Well, what number is it?” O'Hara asked, looking at him expectantly. 

He thought back to the 'voice' he heard. “Thirty-one?” he guessed.

“That's right,” she said quietly.

Carlton closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. This couldn't be possible. There was no way he was reading O'Hara's mind. It didn't matter that all the evidence was pointing towards it. Things like that don't happen in real life.

Maybe it was just more evidence of some kind of brain damage, like the image he had seen earlier. She could have muttered the words again and his headache had caused him to ear them as if they were distorted. That had to be what happened.

“Carlton?”

He looked up so see O'Hara had moved closer, looking at him worriedly.

“Why do you care about Spencer's age?” he asked before he could stop himself.

O'Hara's eyes widened and she backed up a step. “I don't care. Why would I care?”

A five year old could tell O'Hara was lying, let alone the head detective of the SBPD. “If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask. Now spill.”

“Well, it is his age, and I may have been thinking about that fact recently. That's all.” She bent down and grabbed the towel, avoiding his eyes. “Let me re-soak this for you.”

He grabbed her hand as she tried to walk away. Once again he got another flash, this one Spencer related. “You looked in his file?” he asked in surprise.

She jerked his hand out of his, backing away quickly to the other side of the room. “Did you just read my mind?” she asked in shock.

He froze as the implications of what had just happened sank in. He had read his partner's mind. It wasn't all a bunch of coincidences or a joke. She hadn't muttered under her breath or given off any tells that he could have used to arrive at this information. It was real. “I thought you were the one who believed in this stuff,” he said faintly.

“I do, it's just. . .” She bit her lip, glancing away for a moment before turning back to him. “This isn't some random guy on the street, or even Shawn with his weirdness.” She looked him straight in the eye and he could feel her confusion and fear. “This is you, the most _un_ -psychic, least superstitious guy I know.”

Carlton had to look away before her emotions overwhelmed him. It was getting easier to hear her in just the short time they had been talking and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with that. He put his head in his hands with a groan. “Why the hell is this happening?”

“Maybe it had to do with the lab accident yesterday,” O'Hara suggested tentatively. “I can call Shawn and find out if anything is going on with him.”

“No,” Carlton said quickly. “The last thing I need is Spencer finding out I think I'm. . . ”

“Psychic?” O'Hara supplied with a small smile, when he was unable to finish the sentence. 

He winced, but nodded. “Exactly.”

She crossed her arms, regarding him closely. “I still think we should call. If something happened to Shawn as well, that would at least tell us this thing was caused by the accident. If not, we need to start looking into other possibilities.”

Carlton sighed. She did have a point. “OK, but do not under any circumstances tell Spencer what's going on. Just. . . pretend you're checking up on him. You were going to call him today anyway.”

O'Hara gave him a sharp look. “How did you. . .? Never mind.” She grabbed the phone, quickly dialing Spencer's number. “Gus? It's Juliet.” She crossed the room, far enough away that Carlton couldn't hear her thoughts. He could still sense her emotions however.

“Everything's fine. I'm just calling to see how Shawn is doing.” She listened, frowning slightly. A thread of suspicion wound through her mind, along with relief. Spencer must be fine, though something Guster said was bothering her. 

“Okaay,” she said slowly. “Well, tell him I said feel better. Carlton?” She glanced over at him. He shook his head, reminding her to keep her mouth shut. “He's fine. Also has a headache, and he's a bit more grumpy than normal.” He snorted at her statement. He was not a grumpy. “But otherwise fine. Totally and _completely_ fine.”

Carlton sighed. He should have made the call himself. O'Hara was horrible at lying to those two nimrods.

“No. I just wanted to check on Shawn and I did, so I should go. Bye Gus.” She hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

“Gee O'Hara, were you trying to give away that something happened?” Carlton asked sarcastically.

She glared at him and he sensed a surge of annoyance from her. “Next time _you_ call then.”

“I will.” His head was starting to throb again and he lay back down on the couch. “What did Guster say?”

He heard O'Hara sigh and sensed another flash of annoyance. Turning his head, he saw her grab the towel she had dropped and head to the kitchen. She returned a few moments later, towel damp again, and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, careful not to touch her this time.

“You're welcome.” She took a few steps away and sat in a chair while he draped the towel across his forehead. “He said Shawn was fine, but he seemed nervous. I think he was hiding something.”

“The two of them are always hiding something. It might not mean anything,” he reasoned.

“Do you really believe that?” O'Hara asked skeptically.

“I think if Spencer had any kind of real ability, he would have been over here already rubbing my face in it.” He yawned, his sleepless night starting to catch up with him.

He heard O'Hara stand up. “You look tired. I have some errands to run that will take a couple of hours. I'll pick up something for us to eat on the way pack.” _**That will give me some time to think all this through.**_

“Sounds good,” Carlton mumbled, agreeing with both statements. This whole thing was extremely unsettling and he could use some time himself to adjust to the idea himself. 

He sensed a brief burst of irritation from her at his reply, along with a partial thought about being taken for granted again. He pulled the towel off his face and looked at her as she grabbed her purse. “Thank you, by the way. For agreeing to stay with me.”

She paused and he sensed a wave of gratitude drift from her. “No problem. It's what friends do.”

He cleared his throat and looked away, uncomfortable with the displays of emotion. “Thanks,” he said again, gruffly, and tried to ignore the flash of amusement from her as she headed for the door.

The house felt oddly silent after she left. He hadn't realized how loud O'Hara's thoughts and emotions had been. His mind was quiet now, though he could hear a low hum in the background. Probably his neighbors, he thought, wondering exactly how far away he could read people.

He yawned, his sleepless night and the last hour leaving him feeling exhausted. Reading minds was more tiring than one would think. He would take a quick nap, then see if the two of them could sort out what the hell was going on. He put the towel back on his forehead, closed his eyes, and let himself drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review. It really makes me happy to hear what you think of the story.


	4. Same Job, New Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has been reviewing this story so far. It means so much to me with everything that has been going on.
> 
> This week didn't end up any better than last week. I still haven't found a new job, and I dropped a metal shelf on my knee on Wednesday. Since my job requires me to be on my feet for eight hours, the last two days have not been fun.
> 
> On a happier note, this is my favorite chapter of the whole story. I hope everyone enjoys it.  
> And I promise it answers most of the questions you guys have been asking in the reviews.

A police station is not a fun place for a psychic.

Carlton had slowly started to grow used to his unwanted power over the last few days. There was a constant low buzz in the back of his mind, never completely fading away. He could increase this buzz until he could pick out individual emotions or even thoughts. However, if he did this for more than a couple of minutes, it left him tired and with a pounding headache. Mostly, he just tried to ignore it whenever he could.

Emotions he could pick up from about twenty feet away, though he could sense someone was there further than that. For individual thoughts, the person had to be much closer, within a couple of feet. If a person was angry or emotional, he could 'hear' them more clearly, like the irate woman at the supermarket who was yelling at the cashier for not taking her expired coupons. Even from several feet away, he could 'hear' she was tight on money and had been counting on those coupons to save enough to pay her electric bill. The argument had left him with a headache, though he did try to be nice to the cashier. It was only his second day on the job and he was worried about getting fired.

After that, he had limited his time spent around groups of people, going out at odd times when the stores wouldn't be so crowded. In small numbers it was easier to ignore what he was 'hearing,' though the occasional thought or feeling still slipped through.

He thought he was getting a handle on this psychic thing until he walked into the station Monday morning. He was immediately overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions of the officers and criminals present. Most of the feelings were heavy and dark; fear, anxiety, worry, anger, sadness. There was at least _some_ sense of satisfaction or happiness from those who had recently solved a case or someone who had been released. Unfortunately though, most of what he was picking up ran to the darker side of the spectrum.

Gritting his teeth against the onslaught, he managed to cross the room to his desk. He sat down stiffly, struggling to appear as normal as possible in case anyone was watching. Taking a deep breath, he pushed back the 'noise' of the station until it was down to a more manageable level, though he couldn't make it go away completely. He tried to occupy his thoughts with the reports he still had to finish from last week, hoping something would come up to get him out of the station.

Two hours later and the stress of dealing with the charged atmosphere in the station was giving him a major headache. His first cup of coffee sat cold and abandoned on the edge of his desk. Usually, he was on his second or third cup by now, but the caffeine just made his headache worse. It was probably because caffeine was a stimulant, and it only served to amplify his power. Good to know for the future, but not really helpful right now. He rubbed his temple in a hopeless attempt to relieve some of the pain.

_**Maybe he could use some aspirin.**_

“I'm fine, O'Hara,” Lassiter grumbled loudly. He felt surprise and uneasiness from his partner. He looked up to see her still sitting at her desk across the room, staring at him. He realized he had responded to a thought rather than something she had said out loud.

He sighed heavily. For some reason, he could hear O'Hara's thoughts from a distance without any effort. He wasn't sure if this was because of their close bond as partners, or because she had been there as his power was developing. Whatever the reason, it was quickly becoming a problem.

He got up and walked over to her desk. He stopped a couple feet away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I could use some aspirin,” he said quietly. She pulled a bottle out of her desk drawer, silently handing it to him. “Thanks.” He swallowed a couple of pills before handing the bottle back to her. “Sorry about that.”

“It's fine. I know you can't really control it yet,” O'Hara said. He tried to block out her thoughts, though he could still feel the worry and uneasiness coming off her. Worry he could understand; he was sure he looked like hell. He didn't like that she was feeling uncomfortable around him. With so much of his time spent at work, she was the closest thing he had to a friend. 

He walked slowly back over to his desk, trying to ignore the emotions swirling around him. He was distracted when he went to sit down and somehow missed his chair, barely catching himself on the edge of his desk to keep from falling to the floor. He felt a ripple of amusement from the room, too diffuse to pinpoint to any one source. He scowled, dragging his chair closer to his desk and sitting down.

He grabbed the next file in the stack and reached for a pen. He somehow knocked the pencil cup over and a few pens skidded across his desk and onto the floor. Cursing under his breath, he bent down to pick them up only to find they had continued rolling, ending up under Dobson's desk. Leaving them for now, he sat up to discover the file he had started working on was missing. After a quick search, he found it shoved behind his computer monitor.

He glanced around the room suspiciously. No one was close enough to his desk to have touched anything, though he did sense amusement again, this time from a much narrower source. Looking where the emotion was coming from, he saw a flash of brown hair as someone ducked quickly behind a pillar.

He groaned. Couldn't Spencer leave him alone for one day? He started working on the file again, but kept an eye out for the fake psychic. If Spencer was hiding, that meant he was up to something and Carlton was not going to be caught off guard.

A few minutes later Spencer and Guster abandoned whatever they were doing and headed to O'Hara's desk. Spencer seemed to be full of energy today, almost skipping beside his much calmer friend. He had significantly fewer bandages than the last Carlton had seen him, though he could see the still healing cuts on his arms from here. The two chatted briefly to O'Hara before making there way over to him.

He could hear Guster's thoughts clearly once he got close enough but Spencer's were muddied. He had to concentrate to make anything out. His mind also had a different 'texture' to it than any other he had come across so far. He wondered why that was, but he had always thought Spencer's mind must work differently than others' with the way he acted. Maybe this was just proof of that.

Spencer's emotions he could read much more clearly, the foremost being amusement. “Having trouble Lassie?” he asked, perching on the edge of Carlton's desk.

Carlton's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you ask?” He concentrated on the psychic, trying to hear what Spencer was thinking.

_**Man, this is too easy. He doesn't suspect a thing**_ _._ “No reason, you just looked like you were having a bit of trouble before,” Spencer said with a grin.

_**This is a bad idea. I told Shawn not to do this.**_

Carlton turned to look at the best friend. “You wouldn't know anything, would you Guster?” The pharmaceutical rep was ridiculously easy to crack, even without mind reading abilities.

“Nothing,” Guster replied quickly, nervously. _**Oh no. He knows. I don't know how he knows but he knows. Maybe he was affected too. Or – damn it Shawn! What are you doing?**_

He quickly switched his focus back to Spencer. _**Just a little further. . . Got it!**_ There was crash behind him as the pile of papers Spencer had been thinking about fell off his desk “Uh oh, looks like you have a bit of a mess there Lassie. Tough luck,” Spencer said, grinning at him.

“Son of a bitch.” He glared at Spencer, completely ignoring the papers on the floor. “You're a damn telekinetic.”

Surprise and shock radiated off of both men. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Spencer said, appearing calm but Carlton could sense his nervousness.

O'Hara walked over, curiosity flowing off of her. She looked at the papers on the floor, then at Spencer and Guster. “What's going on?”

“Lassie here thinks I can move things with my mind,” Spencer said with a laugh.

O'Hara's eyes widened. “Really? Is it true? I thought it strange that only Carlton – ” she caught herself before she finished the sentence but it was too late. 

“Dude, I _knew_ Jules was lying on the phone,” Spencer said, nudging Guster. He turned back to Carlton, excitement radiating off him. “So what can you do? Shoot lasers from your eyes? Light yourself on fire? Run really fast?”

“If I did have a power, which I'm not saying I do, you would be the last one I would tell,” Carlton said, shooting a glare at his partner. He couldn't get too mad, since he could hear how upset she was about letting his secret slip.

“I bet the lovely Jules knows,” Spencer said, also looking at his partner. The puppy like adoration coming off of Spencer was sickening, though not as much as the thoughts O'Hara was having back about the fake psychic.

“Good lord, would you two get a room?” he growled. He wished they were talking out loud, so he could cover his ears and avoid hearing this crap.

O'Hara blushed. Spencer was embarrassed but trying to hide it. “We're just friends, Lassie,” he said unconvincingly.

Guster looked between the two lovebirds, then at Lassiter. “Telepathy. Or more accurately, mind reading.”

Carlton nodded reluctantly. No point keeping it quiet anyway. O'Hara would eventually tell the two of them.

“Dude, you are so Matt Parkman on _Heroes,_ ” Spencer exclaimed. “You're even a cop and everything.”

“Wouldn't that make you Sylar?” Guster pointed out.

“I don't normally like being compared to a crazed murderer, but Zachary Quinto does have amazing hair,” Spencer said. “Besides that also makes me Spock and hooking up with the ever lovely Zoe Saldana.”

“That's just in the movie. He's gay in real life,” Guster said.

“Would you two knock it off? This isn't some TV show, this is real life,” Carlton snapped.

“That's what makes it so cool,” Spencer said excitedly.

_Of course he thinks that. He's not the one with half the police station_ _shouting_ _in his head_ , Carlton thought sourly.

He straightened up as he spotted the Chief the leaving her office, heading over towards their group. Spencer noticed his sudden change in posture, jumping off his desk and turning just as Vick reached them.

“Mr. Spencer. Mr. Guster,” she said, looking unsurprised to see them. “Normally I would disapprove of you being here annoying my officers. However, today it saves me the trouble of calling you in.” She turned to include Carlton and O'Hara in her gaze. “I need to see the four of you in my office.”

Carlton nodded reluctantly. From what he could read from her, she had a case that would require him to work with Spencer again. After what happened last time, he wasn't looking forward to it.

The Chief returned to her office, O'Hara following her. He turned to Spencer and Guster, stopping them before they could follow after them. “Not a word about this to anyone. Understand?” 

Guster nodded but Spencer was just staring at him with a grin on his face, amusement bursting off of him. “What?”

“You do know this makes you the real psychic detective, right?” Spencer asked cheekily.

“You have two seconds to get away from me,” Carlton said through clenched teeth.

Guster, having more self-preservation than his friend, dragged Spencer towards the Chief's office. Carlton took a deep breath, letting go of his anger. His control had slipped during the exchange and he took a moment to push back the noise of the station again.

“Hurry up Lassie. We're waiting for you,” Spencer's voice rang out.

Carlton sensed the amusement of his coworkers as he stalked towards the office. Good thing Spencer wasn't the mind reader. Otherwise he would know just how much Carlton wanted to strangle him right now.

* * *

Shawn glanced at Lassiter out of the corner of his eye. He didn't look any different. Then again, neither did Shawn. It was hard to believe that such a grouchy, tight ass, unimaginative guy could really read minds.

Lassiter shifted in his seat, shooting a glare at Shawn. He adopted a friendly smile, trying to look innocent. He'd better watch what he was thinking around the detective. This could get real annoying, real fast.

“You're telling me,” Lassiter muttered.

“What was that, detective?” Vick asked.

“Nothing Chief.”

Vick stared at her detective for a moment before handing him a file. “A body washed up on Leadbetter Beach this morning, single gunshot wound to the chest. There was no identification or personal belongings found on the victim. Now, because of how long the body was in the water, fingerprinting is not possible.”

Shawn's attention wandered while the Chief talked. Seeing a potted plant sitting behind her desk, he decided to see how far he could move it before anyone noticed.

He had been practicing the last few days with his power, with Gus helping of course. He could now move objects any where in the room as long as they were relatively small or lightweight, or on wheels like a desk chair. Moving anything too heavy gave him a headache. He also could hold something in midair for a couple of minutes before he had to put it down. 

Gus had recorded all this information, making charts and tables of the data. Shawn didn't understand any of it, but Gus seemed to find it fascinating, comparing it to information he had spent hours researching online. Shawn left Gus to it, knowing if his friend found anything significant he would share it with him. Plus it saved Shawn from having to do all the boring research himself. Hands on experimentation was so much more fun.

Every day Shawn could lift a little more, hold something aloft a little longer. His power was growing and he was both excited and nervous to see what it would turn into.

Shawn slowly slid the pot, lifting it slightly so it wouldn't scrape. He managed to move it a good five inches before anyone noticed.

“Knock it off, Shawn,” Gus hissed. 

Shawn grinned at him. “Knock what off?” he asked innocently.

“Mr. Spencer,” Vick said sternly.

“Sorry Chief. Gus was just telling me about this fabulous curio set he found on eBay. I told him it didn't really match the décor at the office, but he's very insistent on buying it.” He ignored Gus's less then subtle kick to the shin, giving the Chief a winning smile.

She gave him a long look before continuing her briefing. “Now, the body was found by a couple of college students on a morning walk, so the press already has wind of it.” Vick pulled a newspaper out of the pile on her desk. Across the front read page was the headline “Body of Woman Found on Popular Beach.” 

Vick folded the paper back up and returned it to the pile on her desk. While she had been talking, Shawn had started moving the flowerpot again, raising it up so it was hovering a few inches in the air. This time Lassiter spotted it first, giving Shawn a quick glare when the Chief wasn't looking.

Juliet glanced between the two of them, confused at Lassiter's reaction. Her partner nodded slightly toward the pot, drawing her attention to it. She looked over at Shawn and mouthed the words “stop it,” which he ignored.

They all faced forward when Vick looked up again, though Lassiter kept glaring at Shawn out of the corner of his eye.

“We questioned the students, but they weren't able to give us any useful information. I had officers talk to anyone who was on the beach this morning but no one saw anything out of the ordinary.” Vick looked over at Lassiter and Juliet. “The mayor's office is pushing me to wrap this up quickly, which is why I'm assigning Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster to the case.” A small thud caused her to turn around.

“Cut it out, Spencer,” Lassiter hissed as soon as Vick's back was turned.

“Blame Gus, he broke my concentration. Otherwise I wouldn't have dropped it,” Shawn hissed back, rubbing his side where Gus had elbowed him.

“Gentlemen, is there a problem?” Vick asked, turning back towards them.

“No ma'am,” Lassiter answered quickly.

Vick studied the four of them for a moment before continuing. “Woody should be finished with the autopsy by now. See if he found out anything,” Vick said, dismissing them.

The four of them filed quietly out of the office. Gus and Lassiter turned on Shawn as soon as they were far enough away from the door. “What the hell were you thinking Spencer? Did you want to get caught?” Lassiter snapped.

“Relax, I made sure only to move it when she wasn't looking,” Shawn said.

“It was still a stupid thing to do, Shawn,” Gus said. “What if someone else had seen? None of the blinds were closed.”

“Huh. I didn't think of that,” Shawn said. He grinned sheepishly at the other two men. “Guess we got lucky.”

Gus and Lassiter gave him identical looks of disgust before turning and stalking off towards the morgue.

“You going to lecture me too?” Shawn asked as Juliet came up next to him.

“I think Gus and Carlton pretty much covered it,” she said. She put a hand on his arm, turning him to face her. “Just be careful. I don't want you getting caught and have some secret government agency kidnap you to run experiments.”

Shawn grinned. “I think someone has been watching too many movies.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “But I will try to be more careful,” he promised.

“That's all I want to hear.” Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Let's go. The others are waiting.” She quickly headed off towards the morgue, a faint flush on her cheeks.

Shawn followed her slowly, bringing one hand up to touch his face. He grinned, suddenly not so mad Lassiter had read his mind earlier.

* * *

“Woody, my man. How's it hanging?” Shawn asked, walking into the morgue. He glanced at Juliet as he went to stand next to Gus. Other than a small smile, she gave no indication that anything had happened between them a few minutes ago.

“Not too bad Shawn.” Woody leaned in towards him and lowered his voice. “I heard about the lab. A buddy of mine in college had a similar thing happen to him. Well, it was more of a dare and copious amounts of alcohol may have been involved. Still, he was horribly burned and completely lost his left nipple.” Juliet scrunched her nose in disgust. “What I'm trying to say, is that I'll accept you no matter how horribly disfigured you are.” He patted Shawn gently on the shoulder, a slightly creepy grin on his face.

“Thanks, but it's just a few cuts. I'm fine man,” Shawn said, feeling the usual uncomfortableness after talking to his friend.

“What can you tell us about the body?” Lassiter asked, thankfully cutting short the awkward moment.

“She was submerged in the water for several hours before washing up on shore. I put her T.O.D. around 1 pm yesterday. Single gunshot wound to the chest going straight through the heart. I found faint powder burns indicating the shot was fired at close range.” Woody lifted one of her arms, showing them the mottled and shredded skin. Gus immediately started gagging and turned quickly away. “Most of the bruising and abrasions on the body are consistent with being tumbled around in the ocean like a sack of meat.”

“Shawn, can you sense anything?” Juliet asked. She lowered her voice and moved closer to him. “You do still have that power, right?”

Shawn exchanged a glance with Gus before grinning at her reassuringly. “Of course Jules.” No matter what other powers he had, he was still the department's 'psychic.'

He examined the body, looking for clues. There was an indent on the left ring finger, probably from a wedding ring or engagement ring. The victim was still wearing her necklace and bracelets, so that ruled out a mugging. Either she or her attacker had removed the ring deliberately. 

The gunshot wound was from close range, most likely within a couple of feet. There were no marks on her wrists or any other signs of being restrained and no evidence she had struggled with her attacker. She had let the killer get that close to her, telling Shawn it was someone she knew.

The shot itself had gone straight through the heart. While the placement of the shot might not have been deliberate, added to the missing ring and the fact she knew the victim, a scorned lover was looking like the most likely suspect.

Shawn hissed, putting a hand to his temple. “I'm sensing she knew her attacker. Was in love him with him in fact. We're looking for her husband, or possibly her fiancé.” He paused. “Maybe even a life partner. I'm not one to judge.”

“There is a large lesbian community in the area where she was found,” Woody supplied helpfully.

Shawn decided not to ask how he knew that bit of information.

“Can you tell us anything to help ID her?” Juliet asked.

Shawn looked her over again, noticing Lassiter watching him out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't wearing shoes when she was found. Unless she was killed on the beach (unlikely given the time of day) she was likely killed at home or somewhere indoors and the ocean was the closest place to dump the body. Her age and clothing made it unlikely she was a college student, ruling out the university near the beach. That left the two residential areas nearby. One was mostly multimillion dollar mansions, not exactly her crowd going by her jewelry. So that narrowed it down to one, relatively small area.

“I'm sensing she lived nearby,” Shawn said. “Something with birds. Majestic birds with as little hair as my father.”

“A penguin,” Woody guessed.

“Bald eagles,” Juliet said, rolling her eyes.

“That does make more sense,” Woody conceded.

“I'm also getting something dangerous, like the end of a pencil or a knife. Something I find extremely distasteful,” Shawn said, making a face.

“Something sharp or pointy,” Gus guessed.

Juliet snapped her fingers. “Eagles Point. It's a small gated community about three miles from the beach.”

“O'Hara, pull up a list of female residents from that community,” Lassiter said. He turned to Shawn, a strange look on his face. “Spencer, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Shawn raised an eyebrow curiously. Usually when Lassiter wanted to talk, he just dragged him off physically to a secluded area. Asking politely was highly unusual. “Sure,” he said, ignoring Gus's worried look.

As the others headed upstairs, Lassiter led him to a deserted hallway. The detective crossed his arms and turned to look at him. He said nothing for several minutes, studying him intently, until Shawn started to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “Look, is there something you wanted to talk about or are you just trying to win the title for world's creepiest stare? Because I have to say you have it nailed.”

“Indent on the finger from a ring. No marks from restraints or a struggle. No shoes. Clothing and jewelry indicating middle class status.” Lassiter listed each point calmly, never looking away from Shawn's face. His stomach churned, realizing the detective had heard his thoughts while he was examining the body. “You're a fraud,” Lassiter concluded.

Shawn tried to remain outwardly calm, not let Lassiter see how nervous he was. Which was stupid, since Lassiter could sense his emotions and know exactly how he was feeling anyway. “You have no proof. You've said yourself 'psychic vibes' won't hold up in court,” he said, feeling strange being on this side of the argument.

Lassiter took moved forward. “I could tell the Chief.”

Shawn laughed nervously as he took a step back from the detective. “You think she would believe you? You've been complaining about me since the day we met.”

Lassiter took another step forward. Shawn backed up again, stopping when he suddenly found his back against the wall. He saw the anger in the detective's eyes and swallowed nervously. “Lassie, need a little personal space here.”

“The Chief will believe me if I can find proof,” Lassiter said, grabbing Shawn's arm in a tight grip.

Memories and thoughts flashed through Shawn's mind as he felt Lassiter poking around, trying to find something he could use to prove Shawn was a fake. His head spun and he swallowed down a sudden surge of nausea at the invasion.

“ _Get off me!_ ” He yanked himself from Lassiter's grip, _pushing_ the detective away from him. 

Lassiter flew across the hallway, slamming against the far wall. He cried out from the blow, the force pushing all the air from his lungs. He stared at Shawn in fear, leaning against the wall as he struggled to breathe.

Breathing hard himself, Shawn glared at the detective and tried to ignore the sudden pounding in his head. “What the hell?”

Lassiter blinked, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. He managed to catch his breath, the fear in his eyes slowly replaced by guilt as he looked at Shawn. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that,” he said quietly.

“Damn right,” Shawn said vehemently. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling violated by what had happened.

Lassiter took a step away from the wall and Shawn backed up quickly, putting up a hand to ward him away. “Don't come any closer.” 

Lassiter stopped, looking at him warily. “Don't worry. I have no desire to go flying into the wall again.”

Shawn flushed slightly. “Yeah, well, you deserved it.”

“I know,” Lassiter agreed. “What I did was inexcusable. I let my emotions get the best of me. It won't happen again.” He looked at Shawn, the bitter self-loathing he was feeling clearly visible on his face.

“It better not,” Shawn muttered, looking away. 

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Shawn tried to think of a joke or something to break the tension, but for once couldn't come up with anything to say.

“I won't tell the Chief.” Shawn looked at Lassiter in surprise. “You're not doing this to get back at anyone or to prove something. You're doing it because you care.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed by what he had just said.

“You got that looking through my head?” Shawn asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Among other things.” He looked at Shawn, a smirk coming across his features. “That pink tutu was quite fetching.”

Shawn groaned. He should have known taking that second trip to Mexico was a bad idea. “You better not tell anyone,” he said, glaring at the detective. “You got that information under unjust circumstances.”

“Maybe you should remember that next time you try to nose your way in on a case,” Lassiter said smugly.

“I wouldn't need to if you could solve them on your own,” Shawn said sweetly.

“I solved plenty of cases before you came along.”

“Just not as quickly or as many.”

Lassiter glared at him. Shawn just smiled back innocently. He felt more relaxed, the verbal exchange almost comforting, putting him and Lassiter back on familiar ground once again.

“I have work to do,” Lassiter said, as he turned and stalked off down the hallway.

“So I guess that means I win,” Shawn called after him, grinning as he heard Lassiter growl under his breath. 

He sighed, leaning against the wall for a moment. He closed his eyes against the pounding in his head. He needed to get some aspirin or something when he got up stairs. He wasn't sure if his headache was from Lassiter looking around in his head or shoving the detective into the wall. 

He shivered slightly. What Lassiter had done had really freaked him out. Sure, the detective had been furious at him for lying all these years; he couldn't blame him for that. But what Lassiter did crossed the line, big time. At least the man seemed to have realized that, if a little too late.

Shawn remembered the look on the detective's face when he had been slammed into the wall. He had never seen anyone look so afraid of him before. He wasn't normally a violent person but had managed to overpower Lassiter in the blink of an eye. If he had been stronger, the detective could have been seriously hurt. It was a sickening thought, but one he knew he would have to face soon. It probably wouldn't be Lassiter again, but some criminal on a case he was working. Next time he needed to stay in control.

It seemed that was something they both needed to work on. They needed to have more self-control, get a better handle on their emotions and reactions, before anyone else got hurt. 

Shawn sighed wearily. These powers were turning out to be a lot more complicated than he had originally thought. He pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway after the detective. _Time to get back to work._ Whatever else was going on, they still had a case to solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation between Shawn and Lassiter was a late edition to the story, but I think it illustrates many of the problems they both will have controlling their abilities.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think of the story so far. Reviews make me happy :)


	5. I'm Getting Something. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't have a new job and my knee hasn't gotten better. So now my doctor wants me to go for physical therapy. Add to that the cold we've been experiencing and life kind of sucks right now.
> 
> Anyway, here is the next chapter. We're reaching the climax of the story now. Only two more chapters to go.
> 
> Enjoy.

Using the information Spencer had provided, they got a list of residents of Eagle Point and started cross-referencing them with their DMV photos, looking for a match. The community was small, but it still left them with a few dozen names to check. He and O'Hara split the list to make the search go faster.

Carlton winced slightly as he leaned back in his chair. He looked away from the screen to give his eyes a rest, letting his gaze wander. Spencer was sitting across the room with Guster, far enough away that Carlton couldn't get a good read on him. He suspected the other man had done that deliberately. Not that he could blame him after the incident earlier. He was surprised Spencer was even comfortable being in the same room as him.

The detective was ashamed and disgusted he had let his emotions get the best of him. All he had been thinking about through the haze of anger was that he could now finally find out how Spencer did it. He had felt Spencer's fear and panic while he had been digging through his mind but had ignored it, too focused on what he hoped to learn. Now it was all he could think about as the guilt gnawed away at him. He hoped he could find some way to make it up to him after that kind of violation.

He watched Spencer add another item to the tower of office supplies he was building while Guster looked on with disapproval. He suspected Spencer's power was the only thing keeping the precariously built tower from collapsing.

At first he had seen that power as a parlor trick, a way for Spencer to be even more of a nuisance.

That had changed the moment Carlton hit the wall. His ribs were still sore from the force of the blow and already showing signs bruising. Worse, though, was the psychological impact of the attack. One second he had been grabbing Spencer's arm, the next he had been thrown across the hallway. There was no warning, nothing he could do to stop it. He had been completely helpless against the 'psychic' and that had terrified him.

Until he had seen the panicked look on Spencer's face and realized what he had done.

Guster gave the tower a poke, clearly suspecting as well that Spencer was cheating. Spencer slapped his hand, glaring at his friend. During that moment of inattention, the tower collapsed. Carlton shook his head and turned away as the two friends started bickering over whose fault it was.

He had seen inside Spencer's mind. He knew what kind of man he was. Spencer had only acted in self-defense, though the ease in which the man had overpowered him was unnerving. Still, he knew the power would never be intentionally abused.

He had once thought the same of himself.

After what happened, now he wasn't so sure.

“We got a match,” O'Hara said, walking over to his desk, and handing him a file. He flipped it open to find a picture of their victim. “Susan Richards, 34. Lives in Eagles Point. Married to a Jonathan Richards.” She handed him the second file.

There was a flash as soon as it touched his hand. The sights and sounds of the station disappeared and he found himself somewhere completely different.

_He was standing in the living room of an unfamiliar house. O'Hara was next to him, tense and worried. This was most likely because a man was standing across from them pointing a gun at Carlton's chest._

_“I didn't mean to do it,” the man was shouting, looking frantically between the two of them. Fear and panic were rolling off him in waves._

_“You just need to calm down,” Carlton said. He took a small step forward, hands outstretched placatingly. “Put the gun down.”_

_“No,” the man said, gun shaking._

_“Please Mr. Richards,” O'Hara said, getting his attention. He swung the gun over at her and she froze, a jolt of fear coming off her. “We don't want anyone to get hurt.”_

_Carlton took another step forward. The man's gaze snapped back to Carlton. “Stay back!” he said, gun trained once again on Carlton._

_“Put the gun down,” Carlton said, more forcefully this time._

_“I don't want to go to jail,” he whispered. Suddenly, the gun was steady and Carlton barely had time to sense his desperate determination before he pulled the trigger._

_There was a searing pain in his chest as he fell backwards to the floor. He heard more gunfire but couldn't focus on it, too busy trying to breath. He touched a shaking hand to his chest and felt the warm stickiness of blood. There seemed to be a lot of it._

_He coughed, still struggling to breath, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He felt the world starting to fade around him and knew he was dying._

_O'Hara appeared above him. “Carlton! Can you hear? Please answer me. Carlton? Carlton!”_

“Carlton?”

He jumped with a gasp, dropping the file on his desk. He was back at the station, O'Hara looking at him worriedly. He patted his chest, looking for blood or bullet wounds.

Nothing. He was fine.

“Are you OK?” O'Hara asked.

“Fine,” Carlton said hoarsely. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, wondering what the hell had just happened. This wasn't like any of the images he had seen from O'Hara or even when he looked in Spencer's mind. It felt real, like he was actually living it. He could remember what it felt like when the bullet hit him, the way the world had started to fade as he bled out on the carpet.

Pushing the thought away, he took several deep breaths, willing his heart rate to slow down. He was safe at the station. Nothing had happened. He wasn't dying.

Yet.

“Are you sure? You look a little pale,” O'Hara asked, concern flowing off her.

“I said I'm fine,” he snapped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spencer staring at him, a puzzled look on his face. He wondered suddenly how long Spencer had been watching him. The man was smart and, even with the strangeness of everything happening to them, it wouldn't take him long to figure out what happened.

“Shawn said it could possibly be the husband. We should go talk to him, at least to notify him of his wife's death,” O'Hara said gently. _**Something about that file got to him. Maybe we shouldn't take this case.**_

“I'm not sure I buy Spencer's theory,” he said, keeping his voice as calm and level as possible. He did not need his partner second guessing him right now. “She worked in the area near the beach. It could have happened there.” He already knew Spencer was right, but he didn't have a desire to see if his vision was real or not.

“I could talk to him while you check out the workplace,” O'Hara suggested.

“No!” Carlton shouted. He flushed, sensing the attention his outburst had gained him. “I mean, we should probably go together to give him the news.” He didn't want O'Hara talking to a potentially dangerous suspect by herself. What if she ended up the one shot instead? He couldn't take that risk.

“OK,” she said, confused by his actions. “Then let's go talk to him.”

There really wasn't any way for him to get out of it short of telling her what he had seen and he wanted to avoid that if possible. If she knew there was even the _risk_ of him being shot, she'd send in the entire SWAT team to back them up, and if it all turned out to be nothing... he'd look like a joke. “I have to check on something first. I'll meet you at the car,” Carlton said, getting up from the desk.

He made his way towards the records room as O'Hara headed for the door. Spencer and Guster jumped up and followed her, though Spencer glanced curiously after him.

Once everyone was out of sight, Carlton turned and entered the weapons room.

The bullet proof vests were hanging on the far wall. He lifted one down, feeling the weight of it in his hands. There was no way to hide it under the clothes he was wearing, but he didn't want O'Hara to see it. She would want to know why he was wearing it and what was he supposed to say? That he had a vision? He wasn't even sure if that was what it was. For all he knew, the stress of the last few days was starting to get to him. He wasn't entirely sure that this whole psychic thing was real. Maybe he was really sitting in a padded room at the hospital, imagining all this.

He snorted. Even he had to admit his imagination wasn't that vivid or creative. Still, wearing the vest would definitely send the wrong message to the suspect. If there was any hope of avoiding his 'vision' from coming true, he needed to keep the man calm.

As he was hanging the vest back up, he felt an 'itch' in the back of his mind. He was still getting used to this feeling of sensing someone nearby, but this 'itch' felt familiar. He sighed and turned around.

“Spencer, what are you doing down here?”

Spencer was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I'm a police officer. I have access to be down here. Something you do not have,” Carlton said. He headed for the door, hoping to get past Spencer before he could ask anything else.

“You didn't answer my question,” Spencer said, moving to block the doorway. “I may not be a real psychic, but I know when something is up. So spill.”

“Nothing is going on. Now get out of my way,” Carlton growled. He really didn't want to touch Spencer unless he had to. He still hadn't forgiven himself for what happened earlier.

Spencer looked at him carefully, head cocked to the side. Carlton could feel a mix of curiosity, worry, and determination from him, though no specific thoughts. After a moment, Spencer stepped aside, sweeping an arm out to indicate Carlton was free to go.

Carlton stalked past him and down the hallway. He wasn't sure how these vision things work, but he would bet that too many people knowing about it could change what happens and he wasn't about to risk someone else getting hurt. Right now, he had the advantage of knowing how things would play out. He just needed to change the ending. There was no need to get anyone else involved.

He could handle it on his own.

* * *

Shawn watched him head off down the hallway. He was positive now Lassiter was hiding something from them. Something that made him consider wearing a bullet proof vest to talk to the husband.

When he was twenty-one, he had spent the summer working at a circus. He had run a concession stand near the fortune teller's booth, spending the day watching her swindle money out of gullible tourists. Years later he found himself using many of the same tricks for his own psychic act.

Every so often during her readings, she would break off from her usual schtick and have a 'vision.' While her regular readings were fairly accurate, her 'visions' were never wrong. At the time he had thought she was a fake, somehow getting ahold of the information before hand, but now he wasn't so sure. The way she acted during a vision was the same way Lassiter had acted upstairs.

He glanced worriedly over at the vests. Lassiter was still skeptical about all this, despite their new awesome abilities. Knowing Lassiter, the detective probably half-believed he imagined the vision. If it had been Juliet, Gus, or even him getting shot, Lassiter would have said something. He always put the safety of others first, so it must have been himself the detective saw getting hit.

If there was one thing Shawn had learned watching TV, it was that you can change a psychic vision. Lassiter may be trying to keep them in the dark, but Shawn wasn't going to stand by and watch him die. He'd find some way to prevent it.

Exiting the room, Shawn turned and, with his mind, closed the door behind him. He grinned as he walked down the hallway. What was the use of having a superpower if you didn't use it to save someone?

* * *

The house looked normal.

Carlton really wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Maybe an old, rundown house with peeling paint and a desolate wasteland of a yard. Something appropriate to a killer, and certainly not the well-kept house with the picturesque yard he was looking at. There was even a white picket fence for crying out loud.

Carlton and O'Hara headed up the walkway, Spencer and Guster tagging along behind. O'Hara knocked on the door as Carlton turned to look at the two consultants. “You two stay out here.”

“ _Come on_ Lassie,” Spencer complained.

“I mean it. Snoop around outside all you want but do not go into the house,” Carlton ordered. Neither man had been in his vision and he meant to keep it that way.

Spencer narrowed his eyes and Carlton could sense the suspicion coming off him. “What's going on Lassiter?”

Carlton was saved from answering by the door opening. He turned and came face to face with Jonathan Richards.

The man who killed him.

He gave himself a mental shake. It hadn't happened yet and he didn't mean to let it. “Jonathan Richards?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” Richards replied. “Can I help you?”

Carlton held up his badge. “Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, SBPD. This is my partner Detective O'Hara. We'd like to talk to you about your wife.”

Richards looked at the other two men on the porch. “And them?”

“They'll be waiting outside,” Carlton said quickly, cutting Spencer off before he could introduce himself. Spencer gave him an affronted look, but Carlton could sense his suspicion increasing, along with a tinge of worry.

O'Hara gave Carlton a strange look, wondering why her partner was acting so odd, as the two of them followed Richards inside.

Carlton paused in the doorway of the living room. This was the same room from his vision. The room he died in.

“Carlton?” O'Hara asked worriedly.

“I'm fine,” he muttered, as he followed O'Hara into the room, sitting down next to her on the couch opposite Richards.

“Mr. Richards, when was the last time you saw your wife?” O'Hara asked. They had agreed on the ride over that she would do the questioning so Carlton could focus on what he could read off of the husband.

“Yesterday morning. She was leaving for work and I was heading out to meet a client,” Richards said. “Why do you ask?”

Carlton frowned. The guy was nervous. He had likely already guessed what this meeting was about.

“Mr. Richards, a body washed up on Leadbetter Beach this morning,” O'Hara said softly. “It was identified as your wife.”

Carlton sensed some shock, but not nearly as much as he was expecting. “Are you sure?” Richards asked.

O'Hara nodded. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

Richards abruptly stood up. Carlton's hand was on his gun before he realized it. O'Hara gave him a look as Richards started pacing.

_**He's really jumpy today.** _

Carlton slid his hand away from the gun, but not too far. He let his breath out slowly, trying to at least appear calm.

“How did she die?” Richards asked.

“She was shot,” O'Hara said.

Richards acted shocked, but he wasn't feeling it. Instead, he was getting more nervous and anxious.

_**They're going to know it was me. They're going** _ _**to** _ _**figure it out.** _

Carlton stood slowly. “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt your wife?” he asked. O'Hara looked at him, confused as to why he had deviated from the plan.

“No,” Richards said, voice shaking.

_**Just me. Only me. Unless that dirt bag she was cheating on me with wanted to kill her too.** _

At least now he knew why Richards had done it. Carlton looked at O'Hara, nodding slightly to indicate she should resume questioning.

She stood up, moving to stand next to her partner. “Did she argue with anyone recently? Was there anyone who held a grudge against her?”

Richards' pacing became more frantic, taking up more of the room. “I already told you no!” he shouted. Carlton couldn't get any coherent thoughts off of him, just panic and steadily growing fear.

_**Lassie, he has a gun!**_

Carlton jumped as Spencer's voice sounded in his head. He quickly glanced around but saw no sign of the fake psychic anywhere. It wasn't important now anyway. What was important was that they were facing off an increasingly agitated, and _armed_ , suspect.

“Mr. Richards, we're just trying to figure out what happened,” O'Hara said calmly.

Richards stopped in front of them. “Don't patronize me. I know why you're here. You want to know what happened?”

Neither had time to react before Richards pulled a gun out, aiming it point blank at Carlton.

“I killed her,” Richards said, voice strangely calm.

Carlton stared at the gun. It shook slightly in Richards' hand as the man glanced nervously between him and O'Hara. He had hoped Richards hadn't had the gun on him, or that he could disarm him before they got to this point. Now the events of his vision were about to play out.

He could shoot Richards but without evidence that he intended to fire the gun, he would wind up in jail. While that option was preferable to death, there was a very good chance Richards would get a shot off before he could draw his gun. No, he needed to think of some other way to stop this, and fast.

If he didn't, he was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what does everyone think is going to happen? Will Lassie's vision come true? I have the next chapter written but I still want to hear your guesses.


	6. Bullets Hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll put my notes at the end so you can find out what happens.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Come on,” Shawn said as soon as the detectives entered the house. He led Gus around the side of the dwelling until they found a window that would let them see what was going on.

Lassiter and Juliet were standing in what appeared to be a living room, talking to Richards. Shawn couldn't make out what they were saying and despite what he claimed to Gus, he couldn't read lips. He settled for reading their body language in an attempt to gauge how things were going.

Richards seemed worried as the detectives asked him questions. He saw Lassiter reach towards his gun at one point and wondered what Richards had said to get that reaction. Lassiter stopped before he pulled it out, but remained on guard, watching Richards carefully. Shawn watched him closely as well. Richards soon started pacing around the room, growing more and more agitated as the questions continued. On one of his circuits he passed in the front of the window and Shawn saw a familiar bulge under the back of his shirt.

“Dude, he has a gun. We have to warn them,” he whispered to Gus. He crept away from the window and started making his way to the back door.

Gus caught up with him and pulled him to a stop. “Lassiter said not to go in there.”

“We can't just sit here and do nothing,” Shawn said. Getting an idea, he closed his eyes. _Lassie, he has a gun!_ he thought as loud as he could. _That should give Lassiter a heads up to what was going on._ Opening his eyes, he saw Gus's frowning face. “I have to go in. I have this gift for a reason and I might be able to help.”

“You could get shot,” Gus said.

“It's not me I'm worried about,” Shawn said quietly, remembering Lassiter's jitteriness at the station. Ignoring Gus's confused look, he slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Wish me luck.” He dodged around Gus and ran for the back door.

Shawn entered the house quietly, finding himself in the kitchen. He was tempted to check the fridge for any good snacks (it had been awhile since breakfast) but controlled himself as he crept through the room to the hallway. He could always come back later after all this was done.

He heard raised voices coming from the front of the house and cautiously made his way towards them. At the doorway to the living room, he stopped and peeked carefully inside.

Well, Lassiter may not have gotten Shawn's message but he definitely knew about the gun. Richards was standing a few feet away in the center of the room, his back to Shawn, pointing a gun at Lassiter's chest.

Lassiter spotted him in the doorway. He jerked his head, telling Shawn to leave.

“What are you looking at?” Richards asked, quickly turning around. Shawn barely had time to duck behind the door frame before he was spotted.

“Nothing,” Lassiter said.

Shawn heard someone take a step inside the room. “Don't move!” Richards shouted.

Shawn looked back into the room. Lassiter had stepped forward, angling himself so he was partially blocking Juliet. Shawn had to admire that even with a gun pointed at him, Lassiter thought first of protecting his partner.

“I didn't mean to do it,” Richards said desperately, looking frantically between the two detectives.

“You just need to calm down,” Lassiter said. He took a small step forward, hands outstretched placatingly. “Put the gun down.”

“No,” Richards said, gun shaking in his hand.

Shawn didn't want to try to move Richards' arm. It might spook him and make him fire the weapon. Lassiter could still get hit, or Juliet could. He was also smart enough to know that he didn't have a chance at deflecting the bullet once it was fired. He had been around enough gunfire to know his reaction time just wasn't fast enough. His best bet was to incapacitate him with a blow to the head. He looked around for something he could move that wasn't in Richards' line of sight. 

“Please Mr. Richards,” Juliet said, getting his attention. He swung the gun over to her and she froze. “We don't want anyone to get hurt.” Her gaze flickered to Shawn for a second, letting him see the fear she was trying to hide, before returning to Richards.

Lassiter took another step forward. The man's gaze snapped back to him. “Stay back!” he said, gun trained once again on Lassiter.

“Put the gun down,” Lassiter said, more forcefully this time.

Richards was getting desperate. They were running out of time. Shawn had to do something and soon but from his vantage point he couldn't find a suitable object to use. Apparently Richards and his wife went for more of the spartan look for their home. “Come on, think,” he muttered under his breath, trying to come up with something he could do to help. What good were these powers if he couldn't use them to safe a friend?

“I don't want to go to jail,” Richards whispered, his finger tightening on the trigger. In that instant Shawn stopped thinking and just _moved._

* * *

Carlton sensed the moment Richards came to a decision, finger tightening on the trigger.

The gun fired and Spencer was falling back into him. Carlton caught him, hissing at the pain that flared in his ribs. He managed to keep both of them on their feet as O'Hara drew her weapon and returned fire.

The room was filled with too many emotions and thoughts, all clamoring for attention at once. He took a deep breath to clear his head, focusing first on the man leaning against him. Spencer had somehow managed to move across the room in a split second, placing himself between Carlton and the gun. “I told you to wait outside.”

“Good thing I didn't,” Spencer gasped. Carlton had to tighten his grip as the man sagged against him. He could feel the warm stickiness of blood where he was holding Spencer, and the pain radiating off him as the first instant of shock wore off.

“Shit.” He carefully lowered Spencer to the floor and quickly slipped his jacket off, ignoring his ribs' protest to the action. Spencer cried out as he applied pressure to the gunshot wound in his right shoulder. “O'Hara, call for a bus!” When she didn't answer, he looked up. “O'Hara!”

She was still standing where he had last seen her, arm still slightly raised though her finger was no longer on the trigger. She was staring at Richards lying on the floor. He didn't have to look to know he was dead; his thoughts were no longer in Carlton's mind.

“O'Hara, look at me,” Carlton said in a soft voice. She turned, eyes widening as she saw Spencer lying on the floor covered in blood. He could feel fear/panic/worry coming off her in waves. He gritted his teeth, forcing the emotions back so they didn't overwhelm him. “I need you to call for backup and an ambulance. You got it?”

She nodded. She pulled out her radio, voice shaky but clear.

“Is she OK?”

Carlton looked down at Spencer. “She's fine. You were the only one stupid enough to get hurt.”

Spencer winced as Carlton pressed more firmly on the wound. “You know, gunshots hurt a lot more than the movies make you believe,” he moaned.

“Shawn!” Guster came running into the house, stopping a few feet away when he saw his friend covered in blood. “Oh my God!”

Guster was looking a little green, which was mildly impressive given his skin tone. “Guster!” Carlton shouted, snapping his attention away from his friend's bloody form. “I need you to find me a towel or blanket to stop the bleeding.” His jacket was quickly soaking through and wouldn't hold up much longer.

He turned back to Spencer as Guster ran off. “How did you do it?” he asked quietly. “How did you move across the room that quickly?” 

“Don't know,” Spencer said between gasping breaths. “Just needed to do something. Couldn't let you get shot and be the hero.” He tried to grin but it turned into a grimace of pain. “If I had known it would hurt this much, I might have changed my mind.”

“Shawn?” O'Hara crouched down next to Spencer. Carlton could sense the wave of worry, fear, and guilt pouring off her. He pushed it away the best he could, focusing on keeping pressure on the wound.

“Hey Jules,” Spencer said, managing to smile for real this time. Carlton sensed tendrils of happiness creeping through the pain. “You OK?”

O'Hara gave a half laugh, half sob, the feelings coming off her intensifying. “I'm fine. You're the one that got shot.” She took Spencer's hand, holding it tightly.

Spencer's face suddenly turned serious. “I need to ask you something.”

O'Hara nodded. “OK.”

“How badass did I look getting shot?” he asked. “Give it to me straight Jules, I can take it.”

O'Hara started crying then, waves of sadness threatening to overwhelm Carlton. Added to the pain, fear, and worry coming off Spencer and the detective was barely hanging on.

He was immensely glad when Guster returned at that moment with a towel, even if his worry and fear added to the mix. Carlton took it and pressed it over Spencer's wound. “O'Hara, keep pressure on this. I'll go outside to wait for backup.”

She took over, not once looking away from Spencer's face. “No problem.”

Carlton quickly left the house, fleeing the intense emotional atmosphere of the room. He stood outside, the distance and the fresh air helping to calm the noise in his head. He felt Guster coming up to him. He almost snapped at the man, but he could sense the worry he was feeling. “What is it?”

“How bad is Shawn?” Guster asked, swallowing hard.

Carlton sighed. “It's serious, but I've seen people survive worse. Knowing Spencer, he'll be up and annoying everyone far too soon.” He could feel Guster's doubt and turned to look at the man. “I wouldn't lie about something like this.”

Guster nodded. They both turned as they heard sirens approaching in the distance.

“He'll be fine,” Carlton repeated, whether for himself or for Guster he didn't know. He walked to the curb as two police cars and an ambulance pulled up. He directed the paramedic inside and had the officers secure the scene. The best thing he could do right now was focus on the job.

He could deal with his own emotions later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left.


	7. The Beginning of a New Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the last chapter. I'm sad we've reached the end and I just want to say its been a joy to share this with all of you. Thank you to everyone that has reviewed so far; it means so much to me.
> 
> I just want to thank again Singingpurplerose for inspiring the original idea and for Redwolffclaw for helping me beta it. 
> 
> Now, the conclusion to Fantastic Two.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top and hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles?”

“No, Shawn, now quit asking me.”

Shawn looked at Gus, contemplating his next move. He had only been in the hospital a day and already he was going crazy. There was nothing to do, nothing on TV and the food sucked. It was practically torture. Yet his best friend was determined to keep him in this prison. 

“How about if I give you – ”

“No.”

“Dude, you don't even know what I was going to bribe you with,” Shawn whined.

Gus shook his head. “It doesn't matter. I'm not helping you leave.”

Shawn let out a frustrated sigh. He wasn't getting anywhere with Gus. Maybe it was time to switch targets.

“What about you Jules? Care to bust a hero out of wrongful imprisonment?” Shawn asked.

“Shawn, you're hurt. I think it would be best to listen to the doctor and get some rest,” Juliet said.

“But Jules – ”

“She said no, Shawn,” Gus said.

“I wasn't asking you, Benedict Armstrong,” Shawn snapped.

“It's Benedict Arnold, you have _not_ heard it both ways, and neither of us are helping you get out of here,” Gus snapped back.

“Urrghh!” Shawn yelled, throwing his head back against the pillow. He immediately regretted the move as pain flared in his shoulder. “You guys are the worst friends ever,” he muttered.

“We just want you to get better,” Juliet said soothingly. She took his hand in hers, gently stroking it. Shawn sighed. It was really hard to stay mad at her, especially when she looked at him like that.

Gus, on the other hand, would pay dearly for this.

The appearance of a tall, lanky detective in the doorway distracted Shawn from thoughts of revenge.

“Lassie! Great! Could you please tell these two – ” he stopped short when he saw what was in the detective's hands. “Is that a pineapple?”

Lassiter looked down at the yellow fruit, almost as if he was surprised to see he was holding it. “O'Hara said I should bring a gift,” he said, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He crossed the room to stand next to Shawn's bed. “I know you like pineapples so, here.” He placed it on the table next to Shawn.

Shawn smiled up at him. “Awww, I knew you cared.”

“Shut up Spencer,” Lassiter said. There was a moment of awkward silence, before the detective cleared his throat. “So, how are you?”

“Fine. In fact, I'm ready to get out of here,” Shawn said.

“Really?” Lassiter asked skeptically. He looked at Juliet and Gus for confirmation. 

“The doctor wants to keep him a couple of days, make sure everything is healing OK,” Gus said. “ _Someone_ ,” he glared at Shawn, “wants to sign out AMA.”

“I told you, I feel fine,” Shawn protested.

“That's the drugs, Shawn,” Gus said. “You're staying put.”

Shawn sighed dramatically. His dad had been watching him like a hawk since he got out of surgery. He knew Shawn would sign himself out AMA as soon as he got the chance, but Shawn had managed to convince his dad to leave him with Gus and Juliet. He figured it would be easier to sneak out with just these two watching him. Obviously, that plan had horribly backfired. 

Shawn looked at his last chance to get out of here. “Come on, Lassie. Help a man out? You owe me.” He squashed the bit of guilt that formed with that last statement, focusing all his energy on feeling abandoned and lonely.

Lassiter crossed his arms, studying Shawn closely. “Pick up the pineapple.”

Shawn looked at the fruit on the table. It was on his bad side, so he would have twist his body to grab it with his other arm. He should just be able to reach it without pulling out his IV line. “No problem,” he said confidently. He sat up, hiding a wince as the movement pulled on his shoulder. Turning slowly, he carefully reached out towards the fruit. It was further away than he thought and he tried to stretch forward to reach it. He stopped with a gasp, his shoulder on fire. 

“Shawn?” Juliet asked worriedly.

“I got it,” he said through gritted teeth. He was not going to stay in here any longer than he had to. He tried again, groaning as it felt like someone was digging a knife into his shoulder.

Strong hands firmly pressed him back into the bed, being careful of his shoulder. Forced to admit defeat for now, he glared up at Lassiter. “I could have gotten it,” he said stubbornly.

“And hurt yourself in the process,” Lassiter added dryly. He stepped back once he was sure Shawn wasn't going to try again.

“Why didn't you just use your power?” Gus asked.

Shawn blinked, feeling incredibly stupid for not thinking of that sooner. Maybe the drugs were affecting him. He opened his mouth to answer when Lassiter cut him off.

“He can't. He doesn't have it anymore.”

All three of them looked at the older detective in shock. “What do you mean?” Gus asked.

“I mean his power is gone. He can't move things and I can't read minds,” Lassiter said calmly.

“Oh really?” Shawn asked. He didn't know what kind of game Lassiter was trying to play, but he had a surefire way to call his bluff. He concentrated on every hot, sexy fantasy he had had of Juliet over the years, playing them in HD quality and surround sound in his head.

Lassiter's eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise showed absolutely no reaction. Shawn was mildly impressed with his control. He decided to play along for now until he knew exactly what the detective was up to. “Huh, I guess he really can't read minds anymore.”

“And you can't move things?” Juliet asked quietly.

Shawn shook his head. “I thought it might have been because of the drugs.” He sighed, looking forlornly at Juliet. “I guess my time as a superhero is over.”

Juliet patted his good shoulder consolingly. “At least you got to do some good while it lasted.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn saw Lassiter tense slightly. _So that's why he was here._

“Hey Gus, weren't you and Juliet about to go get something to drink?” Shawn asked, giving his friend a look.

Gus nodded, playing along and consequently earning himself a reprieve for his earlier actions. “We were. Lassiter, would you like us to get you anything?”

Lassiter shook his head. “I'm fine.”

They left, leaving Lassiter and Shawn alone in the room. Lassiter looked at the floor, the wall, the chairs, anywhere but at Shawn.

“You don't have to feel guilty. Richards pulled the trigger, not you,” Shawn said.

“Who says I do?” Lassiter said quietly.

Shawn smirked. “You don't have to be psychic to see it.” His smile faded and he grew more serious as he continued. “It's not your fault I got shot.”

Lassiter finally looked at him. “No one else was supposed to get hurt.”

“No one but you, right?” Shawn asked. He knew his guess was right when Lassiter's jaw tightened and he looked away. “That's why you were acting all weird at the station and tried to keep Gus and me out of the house. You knew Richards was going to shoot you.”

“I could have handled it,” Lassiter insisted.

“You would have _died_ ,” Shawn said. He remembered where he had been standing in relation to Lassiter after he teleported (he still didn't know _how_ he had done that). If he hadn't been in the way, the bullet would have gone straight through the detective's heart.

“I know.” He looked back at Shawn, this time holding his gaze steady. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now stop feeling guilty. You can consider us even after all the times you've saved my life.” Shawn paused. “Though you never got shot, so maybe it isn't quite even. You know pineapple smoothies make a nice reward, or anything with pineapple. Jet skis are good too.”

“You can't ride a jet ski with one arm,” Lassiter pointed out. His tone was gruff, but Shawn saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was trying not to smile.

“I won't be one armed forever, Lassie,” Shawn reminded him. 

“No jet skis.”

“Then we're back to my original offer of pineapple smoothies,” Shawn said. “Of course, just one won't be enough.

Lassiter sighed in resignation. “How many are we talking?”

Shawn thought about it for a minute. “One a day for two months.”

Lassiter shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“Seven weeks.”

“Five weeks.”

“Six.”

“Five and a half.”

“Deal,” Shawn said with a grin. That was thirty-nine free smoothies (he'd rounded up because you can't have half a smoothie). It was more than he thought he would get out of he detective. “Now that we have that cleared up, there's another thing we need to discuss.” A small rolling table on his left held a pitcher of water and two cups. He picked up the empty cup and tossed it at Lassiter's face. The detective took a step back, arms instinctively coming up to block the object. Shawn stopped it with his mind a foot away, letting it hover in the air. Lassiter lowered his arms after a moment, looking at the cup, then at Shawn.

“Why did you lie?” Shawn asked.

Lassiter reached up and plucked the cup out of the air. He stared at it, turning it slowly in his hands. “I thought it would be for the best if Guster and O'Hara thought we were normal again.”

“But we're not,” Shawn said, nodding at the cup to prove his point.

Lassiter sighed, placing the cup down on the table next to the pineapple. “They've been treating us differently ever since this thing first started. Don't lie,” he said as Shawn opened his mouth to protest. “I've heard what they've been thinking. Guster is worried what other problems this could mean for you and has barely slept, spending all his free time doing research. O'Hara can barely stand being around me, too afraid of what I might hear in her head.”

“They would get used to it,” Shawn said, though he knew the detective would feel his uncertainty. 

“Would they? Are you absolutely sure?” Lassiter asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you?” Shawn countered.

Looking away, Lassiter explained, “It's just better this way until we get this mess sorted out. Maybe our powers will fade over time. Maybe we can go back to normal.”

“And maybe we can't,” Shawn argued. “Maybe we'll be like this for the rest of our lives.”

“Maybe.” Lassiter didn't sound thrilled by the prospect.

Shawn sighed. He knew Gus had been obsessing over this but he hadn't realized his friend had been that worried about him. He recalled Gus had been more attentive than usual, making sure they stopped for meal breaks and ended at a reasonable hour so Shawn could get a full night's sleep. He had noticed Gus had been more tired than usual, but had been too excited exploring the limits of his power to question why. He didn't like the thought of Gus thinking he was some fragile creature, though his friend's unusually steadfast refusal to let Shawn leave the hospital made more sense now. 

He could imagine how much harder this much be for Lassiter. There needed to be a solid foundation of trust for a partnership to work and this new power was undermining that. They couldn't work effectively together if Juliet was afraid to go near her partner.

Of course, lying brought with it a whole other host of problems, but he had been dealing with those problems for years now and knew how to get around them. It would be tough, keeping something from Gus, but certainly doable. 

He looked over at Lassiter. The detective had his arms crossed, silently waiting for Shawn to make a decision. _Or listening to you arguing it out in your head._ Lassiter raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, leaving Shawn to make the decision on his own. 

Shawn turned his mind back to the problem. He didn't doubt Lassiter could keep a secret and as strange as it sounded, he trusted Lassiter's judgment. If he was worried about how their friends were treating them, maybe he was right. Maybe it would be better to pretend everything was back to normal, at least for now. Once they had better control over their powers, he was sure Gus and Juliet would be more comfortable with it. He nodded to himself. _Yup, this plan could work._

“All right, I'll keep it a secret,” Shawn said, noticing the relieved look in Lassiter's eyes. “But if we do this, we need to pick our names.”

Lassiter looked confused. “What names?”

“Our superhero names, of course,” Shawn explained. “You can't have a secret identity without first an identity.”

“Spencer, we're not superheroes,” Lassiter said with exasperation.

“You can pick first,” Shawn said, ignoring him. “How about Psych-Man?”

“No.”

“You're right. That one was one of mine, anyway.” _Good_ _ol'_ _Tri-Con._ He thought for a moment. “How about the Mind Bender?”

“No.”

“Mental Mayhem?”

“No.”

“The Telepath Kid?”

“I'm not a kid.”

“The Telepath Dude?”

“ _Spencer_.”

“What about Detective X?” When Lassiter didn't veto it right away, Shawn pressed on. “It's perfect. Professor X taught mutants how to use their powers; you teach new cops the ropes. He was the leader of the X-Men; you're Head Detective. And of course, you can both read minds.” It was the perfect superhero name for Lassiter.

“What about you?” Lassiter asked.

Shawn considered it for a minute. “If we want to go with X-Men, there is the Phoenix, though that sounds a bit girly to me,” he said slowly. “Though Jean Grey was one badass mutant.”

“How about the Grey Phoenix?” Lassiter suggested. “It sounds less girly and . . .”

“And?” Shawn prompted when he didn't continue.

Lassiter rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Shawn's stare. “You don't see the world in black and white. It's all shades of gray,” he said quietly.

Shawn thought about it for a minute. Lassiter did have a point, both about the nickname and how he saw the world. Even if it did kind of creep him out how Lassiter got that information. He saw the detective stiffen slightly and knew that thought had been overheard. “I like it,” Shawn said out loud. “Now that we have names, we can start practicing.”

“Practicing?” Lassiter asked.

“How else are we going to learn to control these powers? Unless you want to go through the rest of your life hearing what everyone around you is thinking all the time? By the way, you owe me some juicy insights into one Head Detective for rooting around in my head.”

“We could just ignore them,” Lassiter suggested.

Shawn shook his head. “Haven't you learned anything from movies or comic books? That only leads to more trouble.”

Lassiter sighed. “I'll think about it, but not until you are out of the hospital. . . and leaving AMA does _not_ count.”

“You drive a shrewd bargain,” Shawn said. “But I accept.” He did need the detective's help if he was going to figure this out and he doubted his watch dogs would let him sign out anyway.

“Good,” Lassiter said.

Shawn spit into his hand and held it out to Lassiter. The detective stepped back, eying his hand with disgust. “What are you, five?”

“This is a binding handshake. It only works if we both spit.” He shook his hand at the detective. “Now come on.”

He was surprised when Lassiter spit into his own hand and gingerly clasped Shawn's. He pulled away as soon as he could, wiping his hand on the bedsheets. “Are we done? I need to disinfect my hand.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “A little spit is not going to kill you Lassie. Remember, this was a binding contract. Once I get out of the hospital, we start practicing.”

“Fine.”

Shawn watched him leave, thinking of all the fun the two of them would be having once he got out of here. He would try to convince Lassiter later about getting some costumes. Nothing skin tight, but bullet proof would be nice. 

“And Spencer.” Lassiter turned back as he reached the door. “If I ever hear you thinking about O'Hara in that way again, I'll shoot you.” 

Shawn winced. “Message received loud and clear Detective X.” He grinned when Lassiter scowled at the nickname. Muttering under his breath, Detective X left the room.

Shawn settled back on the bed. He hoped Gus brought a smoothie when he came back. He would need it if he had to stay here another two days. He didn't like having to keep things from Gus, but most superheroes had to live a double life anyway, keeping their real identities a secret. Though it wouldn't last long once the headlines started.

_The Grey Phoenix and Detective X save the day again. Criminals of Santa Barbara beware._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written over a three week period, so I didn't have nearly enough time to include everything I wanted to. So there will be a sequel and I've already started working on it. However, I have numerous other stories in progress right now, so I will not start posting until I finish one of them.
> 
> Here is a teaser for the next installment:
> 
> No Ordinary Heroes  
> Its been a few weeks since the accident and Shawn and Carlton are still learning to control their new powers, while at the same time keeping them a secret from everyone. They need to learn fast, as their next case will require Santa Barbara's newest superheroes to put their abilities to use. If not, innocent lives will be lost.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the story.  
> Don't forget to leave a review!


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